


through the eye of a needle

by raijuthehyeju



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Cameos, Canon Universe, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lot of Borg Bullshit In This One, M/M, Mental Instability, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Rope Bondage, Technobabble, The Borg, Touch-Starved, optional NSFW chapters/content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 276,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24675433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raijuthehyeju/pseuds/raijuthehyeju
Summary: When a Collective-severed Borg sphere is spat out of a wormhole from the Species 8472 War 17 years later in 2391, you don't tread lightly where a Queen and her legion sleeps. But Starfleet has a knack for bringing the best and brightest minds together to work towards a common goal, right? So what happens when you get the xB Executive Director of the Cooperative's Reclamation Project, and the former Chief Engineer of Enterprises'-D, E, and Utopia Planitia Shipyards together, co-managing an 'Artifact' lost in space?This is a story of Geordi La Forge and Hugh the Borg reconnecting with each other; enduring hardships, conquering emotional turmoil, coming face to face with despots, healing the severed, learning from the enemy, discovering how and what love feels like, and wishing that Hugh, after 23 years of being separated from the Collective, had SOME sort of canon last name.
Relationships: Data/Geordi La Forge, Hugh | Third of Five/Crosis (Star Trek), Hugh | Third of Five/Geordi La Forge
Comments: 35
Kudos: 56





	1. ACT I • INTO THE EYE || debriefing

**Author's Note:**

> holy FUCK i know this is a really big first chapter, but: gotta lay down the groundwork for the premise of this fic || welcome to my geordi la forge/hugh BorgMan aka LABORG fic, pre-PIC era by eight years. update i DO know how long this fic is going to be so strap the fuck in homies !!! || perspective swaps between geordi and hugh WILL happen || crosis is actually from TNG's the descent, i'm just kinda fleshing him out as an actual character so kind of/kind of not OC??? Eh, here's his bitchy little gay self from a clip https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFr3ufmnmJI (spoiler: in this fic he got better) || i'll be mixing in characters from DS9, TNG, and VOY like someone gave me a slap chop of star trek characters to use for my own baby block enjoyment || please enjoy oh my god i've spent literal months on this intro, like comment subscribe for more || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**ALPHA QUADRANT - OHNIAKA SYSTEM, OHNIAKA III  
[EARTHEN CALENDAR - AUGUST 13, 2391]  
COOPERATIVE CAPITAL, RECLAMATION PROJECT HEADQUARTERS**

“Director’s Log, Stardate 68699.76.” 

A UX's chime blipped in recording confirmation. 

“Following up on the classified Starfleet subspace transmission from Stardate 68693.49 to request an in-person meeting, Admiral Kathryn Janeway’s runabout will be landing on Ohniaka III at 1000 hours. Details on subject matter prior to the confirmation of this meeting were, surprisingly, scant: especially considering Starfleet’s typical reliability for an _overabundance_ of bureaucratic details. The fact that Admiral Kathryn Janeway, of all people, requested to meet us in _person_ … well. It was enough for both myself _and_ the Reclamation Project’s board to be called more than ‘curious,’ and to host Starfleet's request. By the subject’s tease of ‘a large, beneficiary opportunity for the Reclamation Project’s mission and reputation,’ I postulate it is either extended commendations for our recent completion and integration of the Sontobus II colony... or something far, far more interesting than a simple ‘congratulations.’” 

The Director paused- pursing his lips in humored, musing thought. 

“Regardless of my own inward happiness towards the Project and its accomplishments, I await to see what the Admiral brings with her to Ohniaka III. To think that we will have the ‘Usurper’ herself here, after all- in person, and amongst many who would look… ‘kindly’ on her actions? I could call that quite ‘anticipatory.’ Or even intriguin-- no, no- I know what to call it.”

Hugh smiled.  
“‘Extraordinary.’ ...End Director’s Log.”

A quiet ping signaled the completed and archived Director’s log, Hugh’s hand fiddling with the Cooperative Emblem resting on his chest. Its metal, burnished gold and silver formed in the shape of a single cube rising above a larger Borg fortress, shone brilliantly against Hugh’s black, high-collar blazer. Nerves for the forthcoming meeting manifested in him suddenly tending to a stray piece of swooping, dark hair, the Director checking his reflection over and over to make sure everything was right. Everything on him _seemed_ right, at least: ocular implants still shiny as ever, his visual ARG UI was functioning at optimal levels, hair was coiffed, skin freshly primed after a long night’s regeneration, outfit pressed and appearing presentable… 

He was Hugh.   
And he was feeling quite handsome before this very important, very mysterious meeting with Starfleet’s Admiral Kathryn Janeway. 

_No pressure._

Looking back towards his office window of a wall, the skies of Ohniaka III were rather clear today, welcoming Janeway's arrival despite the horizon's typically wild nature. While its colors could be an odd mixture of muted green, weathered rust, and strange streaks of yellow, the palette was a highlight against its pinkish, fluffy clouds, Ohniaka III’s striking architecture a beautiful silhouette against the early-morning horizon. Against shadows of geometric high-rises, Hugh’s current view from his Reclamation Project’s Headquarters office, and the Eternal Memorial dedicated to Ohniaka III’s first residents, wisps of broken clouds trailed after spacecraft all recent and long departed, the Director squinting at a smaller, newer streak in particular.

The size of a Starfleet runabout, it looked like.

A communication request chime broke him from thought. 

“Hugh here.” 

“ _Director_ ,” came a voice, “ _Admiral Janeway will be landing in approximately two minutes, 27 seconds onboard the U.S.S. Ithaca . She is reported as accompanied by two Federation Security Lieutenants_.”

Lieutenants, then?   
Hmm- not as ‘threatening’ as Commanders, but still experienced enough to be attending an Admiral.  
Hopefully they would be staying _inside_ the runabout.

“Yes- I believe I see it coming now, in fact,” Hugh confirmed. “Thank you. I will be at the Complex’s entrance to greet her before touchdown.”

The comm-channel ended as Hugh gave himself one last look-over.  
He swallowed.

“No pressure, Hugh.”

* * *

The Danube class runabout began its descending hover at the Headquarters’ landing site as Hugh made it outside, standing at attention and clasping his hands together to try and gather his nerves. The edge of his sight noticed almost every xB stop and observe the _Ithaca_ drop ever slower towards the ground, the gust from its impulse engines rustling nearby foliage _and_ Hugh’s perfectly coiffed hair, much to his dismay. He’d successfully swept that one piece back exactly _four times now_ \- would it be rude to just... unfold his hands and start fiddling with his hair? Especially considering who was about to come _out_ of that runabout? A small fidget in his boots was on time with a thud the _Ithaca's_ landing made, Hugh at full attention as neon blue engines cooled and simmered into a dulled standby. His mind was focused on trying to fight off mental noise, dismissing notifications that had been subconsciously collecting on the starship: noticing recent repairs, observing its shielding capacity from the tiny fragments of particles it left in the atmosphere around them-- 

The doors suddenly slid open, and there stood Admiral Kathryn Janeway. 

It was a common trait among ex-Borg, apparently, that Cooperative individuals had the most enrapturing, captivating stares. Former drones, by either stereotype or shared habit between their makeshift culture, had been noted in conversations that subjects simply had a striking way of… looking at someone. Staring. Anchored and locked in the moment of engagement. Fledgling Cooperative Anthropologists postulated that this could be due to the fact that, because of an xB's severance from the Collective, you as a fellow individual had their full, undivided attention as an autonomous being, and the mere sensation of conversing with someone of the subject's own will was a celebration of individuality itself. Once Hugh was made aware of the trait, he became quite fond to the gesture's concept, amused at the looks back he received from others who were almost surprised at his amiable presence. He must have been doing it now to Admiral Janeway; for she- a fellow xB, a captain, a leader, a _Usurper-_ looked right back at him with plenty of fire in her eyes, and even a smirk to boot.

The crimson command uniform with a gleaming Starfleet badge and Admiral’s pips caught the Ohniaka III sun as Janeway emerged from the _Ithaca_ , only rivaled by her silver hair shining against the morning’s light. Two security Lieutenants, a Vulcan and Betazoid, flanked her and stood at the Runabout’s entrance as she made her way towards Hugh, the Director quietly thankful to see they had remained there and _not_ followed alongside her. The Admiral was just as striking as he’d seen her in recordings and images- she held her head high, bore intent in her gaze, and carried an air of worn, world-weary wisdom. Although it was not the most _factual_ of observations for Hugh’s xB cybernetic vision to notice, Janeway’s eyes were 6.7% more creased below the lower lid that most humans’; from what he knew of the culture, this indicated wisdom of both the mind and a traveled soul… or, perhaps, a heavy truth or announcement they carried the weight of.

“Admiral Janeway,” Hugh greeted, “welcome to Ohniaka III. While I _relish_ in the fact I cannot speak _directly_ for my fellow kin,” he humored, “it is the Cooperation’s, _and_ Reclamation Project’s, honor to host you.”

“The honor is all mine, Director Hugh,” she assured him, reaching her hand out for a shake. “I had been meaning to make an ambassadorial trip out here for a while, admittedly, but present circumstances have granted me that opportunity quicker than I expected. Thank _you_ for hosting me.”

As Hugh’s hand released Janeway’s and he began to guide her inside, his eyes dashed back to the two security officers at the runabout’s entrance, the Director noticing their firm grips on the Type 3 Phaser Rifles.

“They will not be escorting us, Mr. Hugh,” Janeway assured. “I apologize for their rigidness; Starfleet wouldn’t send me with anything _less_ in the way of escorting officers.” 

“Typical protocol for diplomacy-venturing Admirals?”

“Clancy wanted me with _five_. I told her ‘any more and we’d have to set up a picnic with a basket full of political apologia.’” 

The Director chuckled at this, though relief swept through him at hearing the shuttle’s doors shut with the Lieutenants inside. “I must say I’m rather… ‘impressed?’ ‘Surprised?’ No no, ‘curious,’ that’s a better word,” Hugh settled on, “that you chose to have this conversation in person. Most of the time whenever we have communications with either Starfleet or the Federation, they prefer hologram or video conferences when ‘dealing’ with the affairs of xBs. I am glad to have seen you -and met you- in person, Admiral.” 

“I’ll be the first to admit that Starfleet personnel sometimes need _reminding_ about the importance of in-person meetings,” Janeway agreed with him, “much less the _respect_ it helps generate between differing parties. You call someone? Cordial, necessary if distance is a circumstance; from my experience, it shows you’re not quite willing to meet face-to-face. Holograms: bit of a step up, of course. But as far as I’m concerned, xBs deserve quite a bit _more_ respect than what some of the galaxy’s current mindsets have to offer, and I am more than happy to make the venture out here.” 

Hugh was pleased at this, feeling both flattery and surprise at her frankness, the doors sliding open as he led the Admiral further towards his office. “And in turn, I will be more than happy to thank the Federation for helping install the planetary defense systems that currently hang above us and help… _defend_ us from those less-than-favorable mindsets.” 

“Installing the planetary shielding routers didn’t give you too much trouble, did they?” 

“It took some figuring out how to incorporate our own resources with what Starfleet offered,” Hugh told her, “but we finally got something unique and ‘xB-stapled’ to prevent attempted tampering with ‘unkind visitors.’”

“You haven’t had any kinds of those ‘visitors’ recently, have you?”

Hugh’s lips thinned. “Not beyond what we’ve reported.” 

“Mm. At least none have made it planet-side since installation, then.”

“At least.”

As the two proceeded through the Reclamation Project's Headquarters, the edge of Hugh’s sight caught a few xBs stopping to watch Admiral Janeway again. 'Watch,' perhaps, may have been the wrong word; many came to a slower pace, some to a halt, as they ‘beheld’ the woman so cordially speaking with their Director, in their home of operation and solace. The ‘Usurper,’ as some called Janeway (and some further ‘the Liberator’), could feel the stares of the xBs, Hugh noticing the minute changes in Janeway’s posture and tightening of her expression. The Admiral carried a heavy mantle of her legacy with the Borg; all good, bad, and debate in morality, one could not deny that she had altered the history of the Borg with her actions against the Collective in the Delta Quadrant- and that this journey to Ohniaka III was, perhaps, not as easy as she may have initially let on. 

“I meant to tell you,” Janeway commented while passing under the xB emblem, “or whoever created it… I admire the sigil of the xBs, Mr. Hugh. It’s quite striking.” 

That compliment pulled Hugh out of his train of thought, putting on a genuine smile for the Admiral. “Thank you,” he replied. “We may have not officially submitted it to the Federation’s recognized symbology until 2382, but it actually originated in 2380. Artistic expression of trauma is a rather helpful coping mechanism for the recovery of some xBs, and there seemed to be a... ‘cooperative agreement’ that this sigil be utilized when its initial drafts were being crafted.” 

“That was over a decade ago; is it a renowned occasion throughout xB culture?” 

Hugh scanned his thumbprint on a door’s gateway as they went further inside the headquarters. “In a way,” he offered. “Remind me before you depart to give you a collection of the artist’s other works. She is quite renowned on Ohniaka III for her iconoclastic designs.”

“If she’s capable of other such elegant works, I certainly wouldn’t mind having an artbook collection out on a coffee table.” 

A coffee table?   
What was the human significance of a table _just_ for coffee?

Hugh furrowed his brow and examined the Admiral who was chuckling in good humor at Hugh’s puzzled expression. 

“Old human joke to do with furniture. Nothing in ill will, I assure you.”

“Isn’t coffee a liquid you wouldn’t exactly _want_ around an artbook?”

Janeway hummed with an amused tone, “I’ll explain later- the least I could do is offer you Earthen interior decorating tips in exchange.” 

Hugh’s office was both welcoming and alien to most species’ diplomatic setups, where office organization was concerned. With simple, spartan walls bearing gleaming lines of the green xB user interface technology, one side was a solid window, and the other various artworks of various xB artwork or memorabilia. Back-lit panels of a Borg regeneration cell, a traditional ceramic plate half consumed by Borg nanoprobes, rusted cybernetic remnants of both limb and living quarters... while the room itself was cozy in the moodiness of its construction, the real eye catcher was the difference in table setup- or, rather, the perfect circle of a “desk.” Directly in the center of Hugh’s office, the desk began to manifest two chairs from its side's nanite constructs, Hugh “drawing” and tapping twice on the tabletop interface to indicate the need for two chairs. xB meeting rituals had the number of parties involved never settle on a front/back facing arrangement, and as conversation organically moved, the seats would stay exactly opposite to each other, but there was no “head of the table” or “subject facing captive” in xB delegations. People were free to lean, negotiate, point out, or take charge from whichever direction they felt most comfortable in, and henceforth the other party would be on an equal visual playing field. Cooperative-hosted diplomacy gatherings had been referred to as the “topsy turvy conventions” by some Federation delegates and, throughout Hugh's experience, it was always the _Human_ officers who ended up amused, much to his own amusement in turn. 

“May I offer you any refreshments, Admiral?” Hugh asked, his chair’s assembly nearly complete as he led her to take a seat. “Our replicators are programmed with a wide array of Federation species-compatible drinks, foods…” 

“No no, I’m quite alright,” she assured him, “thank you though, Mr. Hugh. I would typically take my coffee black, anyway.”   
“You have a stronger constitution than I do, it seems,” Hugh noted as the doors shut behind them. “Coffee is an Earthen beverage that can be quite strong on me- Vulcan and Earthen teas have proven more to my liking.”  
“You’re not the _first_ former Borg I know who has difficulties with coffee. And to your credit, it’s not a drink for everyone. Although the same former Borg I speak of can now drink whisky straight, so who am I to talk.”

Hugh smirked. “Sounds like a former Borg drone I might know myself.”  
“‘One rock, neat, straight out of the pot?’”  
“She had to _teach_ me what a ‘pot and rock’ meant.”  
Janeway’s face seemed to relax. “If you see her next before I do, I ask you to send my regards and well wishes.”  
“I will be sure to do so.”

And as quickly as his relaxation came and went, Hugh watched Janeway prime herself as he took his seat, a professional sense of calm washing over her shoulders despite Hugh trying to hide his anticipation.

“So…” he sighed once settled in the chair. “To what does Ohniaka III, the Cooperative, and the Reclamation Project by proxy... owe a visit from Admiral Kathryn Janeway?”

Janeway sat up and folded her hands. “Well, I’ll get right to it, Mr. Hugh.”

She took in a sigh. 

There’s a new joint-venture opportunity that has arisen,” the Admiral began, “one that the Federation is interested in supporting, hosting, and collaborating on with our allies involving Borg-related research and rehabilitation matters. The Cooperation’s Reclamation Project involvement would not only be integral, but also _pivotal_ in scientific, engineering, and technological areas that we would be more than grateful for your expertise in, as well as supervision as a Federation-sponsored humanitarian and researcher.”

Hugh realized he probably looked quite impressed by the way Janeway held a newfound smirk, the xB regaining his mental footing after the immensity of her proposal. He had the citizenship of the Federation and official recognition of their constructive works, certainly; but an “integral part?” An even _larger_ -scale project than the _last_ colony his group rehabilitated?

Were they ready for this?  
Was _he_ ready for this?

So Hugh took a breath in, nodding as he mulled over Janeway’s words. “That’s… quite a pitch, Admiral,” Hugh replied, “and one that the Reclamation Project would certainly be interested in. Trust me when I say that I’m more than enthused at the idea of forming our own…” Hugh motioned with his hand to try and conjure a word, “‘Entity,’ for a lack of a better term alongside fellow collaborators, and extending the Project’s outreach capability as a whole.”

“I’m glad,” Janeway replied, pulling up her PADD to access some data at the desk. “Federation xenoanthropologists are already giving your xB-established colonies nothing but glowing reviews, even in preliminary analysis.”

“Oh, it’s- only been three set out for Cooperation-supported independence so far, Admiral,” Hugh admitted, loathing the bashful smile that crept onto his face at her praise. “Not to mention it helps when you have _actual_ xBs leading rehabilitation settlement efforts who did it themselves for a decade.” 

Janeway smirked again. “‘Only three,’ he says,” she mused, “ _conveniently_ leaving out the fact those three colonies total to just over 10,000 lives total. ...You’re doing good work, the Reclamation Project- you and the Cooperative should be very proud of that.”

“I prefer comfort, myself, but I’ll accept pride if it helps further our cause,” Hugh noted. “Thank you. ...If I can make an observation, Admiral, it seems that you’re familiar with our… what have I heard it called? ‘Information-focused humility.’”

“Do not try that with me- I’ve worked with your ilk before, Mr. Hugh,” Janeway crooned in a chuckle as Hugh’s amusement was made clear. “Been it myself, too. xBs are some of the most hard-working, hard-headed, stubborn, _empathetic_ people I’ve ever had the honor of helping broaden my perspective on… well, quite a number of things, really. But a ‘focused work ethic’ is certainly among them.”

“Empathetic,” Hugh highlighted. “Not one I hear often, and I appreciate it all the more.” 

“You’ve all got tough shells in the beginning, that’s for sure,” Janeway finished as she finalized the accessed information, “both literally _and_ figuratively.”

As Janeway laid the PADD on the table, one hand flicked a scanned scenario into the desk’s holographic projector. At the bottom of the projection/top of the table seemed to shine the round surface of a smaller, barren planetoid scarred by a large, deep crater, dotted with likenesses of runabouts and other smaller crafts taking off or landing from temporary labs set up within the crater. Not many kilometers _above_ the surface of this moon, however, Hugh’s eye followed upwards as the hologram completed the creation of this projection, and the full sight of what might be so fascinating to the Federation ceased any and all other thought for Hugh. 

Above the moon’s surface hung the remnants of a Borg sphere- a side blown off the orb of a hull, damage no doubt caused by both collision _and_ battle damage. It was an older model of Sphere -perhaps 20 years or so- from what Hugh’s innate knowledge told him, and what the Reclamation Project’s current info was on Borg tech according to both recent observations and covertly secured intel from the Collective itself. Like some ancient sentinel chipped away at by time and nature, bits and pieces of the Sphere hung freely in space over the low-gravity moon, and Hugh could see that the sphere was “dead,” for all intents and purposes- left hanging in the cold vacuum of space, _not unlike how his own cube was left_ inert and cut off from the Collective.

Just by looking at the scan, Hugh could tell there were drones in this Sphere. A lot of drones. The outer paneling positions protecting regeneration alcove sections, the way the exo-plating was shielding itself for subspace travel before the Sphere was… what was it, cut off? Re-routed? Even if the craft itself was near two decades old, the way the hull was arranged was telling its whole story, but context was certainly missing for the Director. And despite the multitude of drones he could tell were in there, many of them were most likely in stasis; some dead, self-immolated in a dormant, self-loathing sleep, some existing in questionable, haunting circumstances… The longer Hugh looked at the Sphere, the more a horrible realization dawned on him and morphed into a feeling that, somehow, even over hologram, the sphere was less of an orb, and more of an eye- an eye filled with wrath, simmering anger, an unnatural lust for vengeance... and a visual power that was, unfortunately, staring right back at him the more he held its “gaze.”

_Something was watching._

“There’s…” he started. 

Hugh paused, Janeway’s face both curious and expectant.

“A queen is inside of this Sphere, isn’t there.” 

And Janeway, unable to offer a full smile, simply firmed her lips and nodded. “She said you were smart.” 

Hugh’s head immediately whipped in her direction.

 _She?_ She _who?_

“No, not--” Janeway tossed her hand as if to flick the accidental implication away and rubbed at her temple. “My apologies- I meant our previously-discussed mutual acquaintance. I, ah- put in a call to her before my meeting with you. I was going to tell you _afterwards,_ but... Seven sends her regards. And courage.”

Relief washed over the xB and his shoulders eased immediately, though he found himself straightening at Seven of Nine’s charge and compliments. “If the Project is going to be rehabilitating severed drones with a _Borg Queen_ in immediate company,” Hugh began, “the sentiment is very much appreciated. I can assume from your _own_ experiences, Admiral, that you know this-- isn’t the _easiest_ of propositions. Even if she _is_ disconnected, there's...”

Janeway mulled on his words. “From what initial scans and exploration of the sphere prove, the queen has remained dormant.”

Hugh watched Janeway carefully. “Is she contained?”  
“Yes.”   
“Are her and the sphere's assimilation apparatuses disengaged?”  
“From what we can tell, to the best of our ability.”  
“Is she hostile?”   
“Inert, more like. She refuses any sort of communication with us and has taken a vow of silence since severance, according to analysis of their degraded emergency subspace transmission loops.”  
Hugh nodded. “And the sphere is completely severed?”  
“No connection to the Collective whatsoever. And from what we’ve observed, the Collective has no desire to connect _back_ with them, either.”

_Unimatrix collapse within the Sphere, then._

“I can tell here,” he continued, turning his attention to and reaching towards the hologram to run a finger along the hull, “that defensive protocols were initiated before evacuation procedures were completed. This means they were in an emergency situation, and taking damage at the time of their network collapse. Unfamiliar subspace travel too, by the way the outer exo-shielding is organized towards the front for _precautionary_ protection rather than typical subspace deflector array patterns. It seems as if it had a rough crash, obviously, skidded off the moon, caught by a gravitational field, and... “

He paused.

“...Admiral, what happened to this Sphere,” Hugh asked as he turned back to her, “that made an entire Borg craft- a Queen’s practical _escape pod,_ no less, just… become inert like this?”

Janeway gave him a somber look. 

“How familiar are you with the Species 8472 War, Mr. Hugh?”

His gut plunged into an abyss. 

And Hugh’s jaw snapped back shut, holding back grief for the millions of drones lost to a terrible, foolish war. “Familiar enough.”

“Then you’d know the ramifications of what that sphere and its denizens have been through. ...Even if they don’t quite know it yet _themselves_.”

Janeway pulled up some scrolling text and scans for Hugh’s observation from her PADD, Hugh pooling all his concentration to focus back on the briefing at hand. “By analyzing the levels of tachyon radiation that are around the immediate proximity of the sphere,” she told, “we can conclude that, via simulated subspace/wormhole routes and analyzation of impact debris, it somehow managed to jump almost _two d_ _ecades_ ahead of its former point in time after trying to escape Species 8472’s fluid space. Our theoreticians are compiling a hypothesis that the sheer _force_ and suddenness of this severance from the Collective, alongside the time-space venture and foray into enemy territory of fluid space, is what’s left this to be an... ‘Artifact’ from the Borg, if you don’t mind the metaphor of a name.”

A former Borg fortress being called an 'Artifact?'  
Hmm. It could stick.

The Admiral brought her gaze back to the xB, and it seemed as if her eyes had grown so much heavier since the mention of...

> _[Species 8472]  
> _ _[Why couldn’t he think of another name for them]  
> _ _[A word to describe them]  
> _ _[Them and their acts]  
> _ _[Is this a symptom?]  
> _ _[No]  
> _ _[He merely had no words]  
> _ _[He was capable of speaking for himself]  
> _ _[Even if he could not right now]_

“Do you understand why we need you for this, Mr. Hugh?” 

> _[Come back]  
> _

“The Reclamation Project, would… certainly have its work cut out for us.”

“Do you feel this is work you’re willing to do and accept going forward?” 

“Well,” he sighed through a centering breath, “You _were_ the one who said we were ‘stubborn,’ after all.”

And Janeway’s face seemed to regain some of the glow it had when she’d talked about Seven. But it also shifted into the duty of business; so he focused, clasping his hands again on the desk. 

“You mentioned ‘theoreticians and engineers’ previously with ‘Federation and Federation-aligned factions,’” Hugh picked up for her. “Who would be the overseer of Federation research while the Project and I are stationed there?” 

“It would be a co-joint operation,” she told him, “one that _will_ have its fair share of bureaucratic channels, depending on what species decide to send independent science teams not officially within the Federation. But as for the main director of _Federation_ engineering research,” Janeway ambled, and in which she bit her tongue with a grin, “I’ve reviewed, advised, approved the records and admittedly," she humored, "I’ve been waiting to get to this part.” 

Hugh raised an eyebrow.  
What was she getting at? 

“Would the supervision of a certain Commander Geordi La Forge appeal to you?” 

Wh--  
Commander Geordi La Forge?  
 _That_ Geordi?!

Hugh felt his eyes widen and train of thought stop entirely, realizing with an extra layer of blush that Janeway _definitely_ noticed his reaction. While Hugh so often searched for words, he was suddenly at a _loss_ for them, recalling their last visit together almost… what was it now- two years ago, of course! But to be officially working alongside him? The idea of Borg research and rehabilitation going hand-in-hand, by someone who helped rehabilitate him in the first place? 

_His friend?_

“‘Appeal’ is… a rather pale word to adequately describe my, ah,” Hugh fumbled through a barely-constrained smile, “what’s the right word, then? ‘Excitement?’ ‘Surprise?’ Is it improper to say ‘delight?’” 

The Admiral seemed rather proud of herself as her grin grew wider. “I don't think so, Mr. Hugh. Commander La Forge’s own impressive record and genius on an Engineering-level aside, he qualifies to lead due to his familiarity with not only Federation and Borg engineering and technological research, but also his impressive experience with improvisation and handling of Borg interfaces for the compatibility of ex-Borg drones and non-Borg sapients.”

Hugh’s boot was swiveling under the desk at having to keep a professional face. “Experience that came from _my_ incident aboard the _Enterprise-D_ , I’m to assume.”

“Correct. He is currently being informed of this assignment as we speak, no doubt- something tells me he will be willing to accept.” 

Hugh, grinning, paused to give the Admiral a small nod. “What a strange whiplash it is, Admiral,” the Director mused, “to be confronted with the faces of your Oppressor _and_ Liberator in the same venue.”

“I hope it makes facing the 'Oppressor' a little easier.”

“Undoubtedly,” Hugh assured her, his lips wavering some. “The Queens, from what the Cooperative knows- they don’t… ah, that is to say- they don’t exactly care for the Reclamation Project. ...Me in particular, from what intel we've managed to gather.” 

“They hate you, Mr. Hugh,” Janeway offered, Hugh bitterly thankful for her honesty. “They hate what you’ve built. What you and the Cooperative have been able to accomplish despite their empire. You never quite forget the singe of hatred their power-hungry minds leave in both mental neurons and memories. Something in them pushed the Collective to go beyond their baser instinct and into something more. It’s something that… stays with oneself, unfortunately- the _memory_ of their hatred.”

Janeway forced herself out of the thought with a grin. “...And I admire you for the fear you seem to strike at a tyrant’s heart, Director.” 

As much as Hugh loathed superficial pride, he couldn’t help but let that one slide into his gut and warm him to the core, the pride showing itself in the form of a meek and humble smile.

“I would like to see if I could work with her towards a mutual, beneficial goal while rehabilitating also the drones,” Hugh proposed as he tried to stifle the flush on his cheeks, “and maybe even rehabilitate her, too. The Cooperative _and_ Federation could possibly learn about their original intent regarding their species’ assimilation, after all- as of now, we only have have knowledge of their _Borg-designated_ species name and that is _it_ . It’s no coincidence very little information exists about the Queens' species pre-assimilation. The…” Hugh paused to shake his head in disbelief, “the _possibility_ of being able to glean what their species’ crucible was upon seizing the Hivemind, warping a completely equal-bodied Collective into a hierarchical structure… ah. I’m sorry, I apologize; you-- _must_ understand how immense of a discovery something like that could be. ...But I will warn you, Admiral; we would be stepping, quite literally, into a nest. A sleeping nest, true, but something that sleeps _is_ still alive, and could reawaken in ways not even the Cooperation could predict or prevent against- though we will try to avoid conflict at all costs. I... cannot guarantee this project will go smoothly to its very end; not at the hands of the Reclamation Project or xBs, of course- though we would certainly do our best for every souls’ sake on board.”

Janeway nodded. “All personnel would be thoroughly debriefed on this assignment, as well as Reclamation Project staff given seniority when collaborating on technological extraction and research with Federation officers.”

This surprised Hugh. “‘Seniority?’”

“Indeed. xBs _are_ the most familiar with Borg technology, after all; no use allowing officers to assume seniority in affairs _just_ because they’re Federation officers as opposed to Project participants. Hence, you and Commander La Forge’s administration balance.”

“I… the sentiment is appreciated, Admiral, but I don’t have to remind you of the Cooperative’s reputation to some galaxy residen--”

“I couldn’t give less of a damn, Director,” Janeway told him. “And if they do, officers are more than welcome to closemindedly decline or refuse the work, and _not_ bother the Federation _or_ Project’s presence with such bigotry. Furthermore, we are offering any xBs that will be onboard the Project's staffing roster immediate Federation citizenship if they do not have it and desire it- just let us know before you all arrive at the Station. And as an _additional_ furthermore, if there _are_ Federation officers that give you a hard legislative time, they will have to take it up with one of Starfleets’ admirals who is _also_ an xB- as much as they would like to forget, sometimes.” 

The sincerity and conviction behind Janeway’s words honestly silenced Hugh. He could feel himself sitting there, reeling at her words- all the while the “eye” of the holographic Sphere bore down on the weight of their conversation. Janeway had an “axe to grind,” as the Earthen metaphor went; with whom, exactly, he did not know- though all circumstance, context, and history with particular characters could certainly be candidates for her righteous ire and anger. 

“Admiral,” Hugh started, “I… thank you. It’s good to hear that affirmation from an outside source once in a while. And while I thank you for the support, I… _we_ will be the ones there on the floor. We will have to be the ones facing that prejudice. Your sentiments will not be shared in totality, most likely.”  
“I will do my damndest to ensure it is from where I'm at,” Janeway offered. “I want to make sure that any and all conditions engaging with the Queen are as easy as possible for you to work with, if you do. Because you should not have to face an emotional onslaught from both fronts.” 

Hugh forced a grin, and saw what she was trying to do. 

“Thank you. I trust you and Commander La Forge, and respect from an xB is not easily earned. You have... spoken today in sincere, earnest ways that I feel only someone such _as_ myself could notice.”

Janeway snuck in another smirk. “Not much gets by a good old cortical node, does it.” 

And Hugh winked back with his cybernetic eye. “Not at all.” 

In his humor and return to optimism, a fluttering excitement returned within Hugh at the fact he’d be working with Geordi, of all people. Not merely visiting, but _working with!_ Engaging with on an equal level! Not just some lost child behind a force field, but aware of himself, of others and actively engaging with his environment beyond just friendly visits! Seeing an old friend like that, out in fields that they both actually enjoyed and were actually _good_ at- somewhere to excel at together and watch Geordi succeed and shine… 

The eye of the Queen was still staring at Hugh with all the weight of the Sphere behind its gaze, but the burden was made a little more bearable- knowing he and the Project's workforce would be in good company.

“So, Mr. Hugh…” Janeway offered in a grin, sitting up at her seat again. “Can we work out an agreement for the first official Cooperation’s Reclamation Project/Starfleet Federation joint venture?” 

The Director’s chest puffed with a deep breath before replying- in all excitement, concern, apprehension, and delight.

“Let’s get to resource allocation.”

* * *

“A _queen?!”_

Hugh flinched.

The xB across from Hugh sighed, crossed his leg, and rested his chin on top of a fist, reeling in the information as he looked Hugh over. He was mulling, obviously, but Hugh was firm in the belief it wasn’t steeped in ill faith. Finally, Crosis spoke, his voice bothered but trusting despite his doubt.

“You know Bosus and Torsus aren’t going to like this.”  
“I’m not certain many others will at first, either...”   
“‘At first,’ huh?” Crosis chucked. “Alright Hugh, I admire your confidence, I _will_ give you that.”

Hugh managed a weak smile, eyes wandering to the windowed wall as the Admiral’s runabout rose further into Ohniaka III’s sky.

“That’s all we have sometimes, isn’t it?”

The Director’s features brightened at the sound of Crosis’ laugh, amused at how charmed the other could be from a good play-on-words. Almost two heads taller than Hugh and much more broad-shouldered, Crosis was one of Hugh’s oldest friends besides Commander La Forge- not to mention his right hand man for Reclamation Project affairs. As Executive Director Second, Crosis was headstrong, driven, and a perfect co-collaborator whose fiery determination and boisterous, verbosity balanced out Hugh’s gentle nature. Even nowadays with certain glances, Hugh could still remember the way Crosis would stare back at him in their days of “individual infancy,” as they would call it; long glances as if to realize that _he_ was _separate_ from the drone before him, Hugh’s memories and personhood cracking through the temporary erasure of memory the more the other drone looked at him… now, to see him with a rich complexion, strong arms unhindered by hydraulic tubes and augments, long dark hair precariously braided down his back that complimented the dark metallic space of an "eyepatch" where a left eye would be? It still took Hugh's breath away sometimes, watching his friend gaze out the office window- because oh, how truly far they'd come together.

“Who would we be working with?” 

“Mostly Federation and Federation-aligned researchers learning about the Sphere’s tech,” Hugh told him, “ but a few supplemental factions collaborating with them. The aforementioned Starfleet medical cyberneticists and technical engineers, a Klingon contingency seeking new research on propulsion and firepower, couple of Ferengi trade commissioners, a few former Dominion species sending their own research teams-”  
"Romulans?"   
"They're fair game since the Treaty."   
Crosis groaned with an eyeroll. "You _know_ how they are in Borg tech markeeets..."   
"I know, I know- I discussed it with Janeway before she left. Hopefully if they _are_ making money off of," and Hugh made air quotes here, "'sensitive technology that could best be researched on Romulus and, oh, good sirs, this just _has_ to be sent off-site for safety precautions,' it will _not_ be at the extent of drones that are taken advantage of before their full sapiency emerges."

“Fine, fine," Crosis sighed, "let's hope that yields some effective work parameters. Who’ll be the Federation Lead?” 

“A few notable officers with their own impressive records, but the main one?" Hugh chuckled. "You’re not going to believe it.” 

“Oh? That leaves me with a lot of guessing room. Actually, now that I think about it- too _much,_ actually; there are a _lot_ of Starfleet officers out there, I don't know if you're aware, Director.” 

Hugh smirked. “He is a _very_ certain manager of a _very_ large section at the former Utopia Planetia Federation Shipyards. One that actually happens to have a very decorated history in Starfleet...”

“Mhm…?”  
“Served on one of the most famous Starfleet ships in its history,”   
“Yeees?”   
“A Commander that served on the _Enterprise-D,”_ _  
_“Go on?”  
“Actually happens to _sympathize_ with ex-Borg,” Hugh crooned as he suddenly stepped from the window.   
Crosis was beginning to catch on, watching Hugh's bravado rise; “Oh, you’re kidding me!”   
“And visited here _two years ago,”_ he proclaimed with a slap to the desk and a point of the finger, “who couldn’t get over what a _good cook I was_ after I had researched Terran recipes all damn week!”

Crosis was laughing again at seeing Hugh’s excitement, the Director trying and failing to hide a smile behind his rubbing fingers. “Ohhh," his friend sighed, "aren’t we lucky.”

“I haven’t seen Geordi in so long, Crosis,” Hugh admitted, “I couldn’t be more thankful for this.”

Crosis shrugged. “Someone _had_ to have set that one up.”

“With how she spoke, I suspect Admiral Janeway had more of a hand in orchestrating the personnel than she initially let on,” Hugh offered, “but Commander La Forge must have had his records indicate that he was familiar with Borg technology.” 

“Familiar, and _good_ with it. He built _you_ that energy convergence port and barely knew you _or_ your augmentations for more than an hour beforehand.”

Hugh snorted. “I wouldn’t call that time of my life the most _educational_ for either of us, really,” he admitted, “but he…” The Director bubbled with excitement, running a hand down his face. “He’ll be perfect. I wouldn’t trust many others in the face of a possibility like this. I mean…” 

A spark of unnamed wonder surged through Hugh, his fist balled and going to his mouth as he rubbed his thumb. “Just _imagine,_ Crosis… a former queen rehabilitated? Deprogrammed? What we could… _learn_ from her- finally discover what drove her species in the _first place_ upon their assimilation? Beginning to understand the nature of the Collective itself and what sparked the hunter’s instinct, all from one of their own queens helping, and seeing, _realizing_ what they do to people! One of them, just… seeing the other side, for once...”

“Will she _want_ to, though?” Crosis posed. “Will she be able to even _access_ that information we seek in the first place? We can’t just _use_ her, Hugh- how do we know she’ll cooperate with us, much less _listen_ to us? All she’ll know is that we’re coming in there to empty the fallen nest, pick up and ransack the empty hive… I’m not trying to deny your optimism, my friend,” he warned, “but she’ll see what you’re doing. And she'll try to use you. Manipulate you. All of us, really, but… especially _you_ , Director.”

Hugh sighed. The tip of his thumb pushed against his index finger.  
‘ _Director_.’ The Queen would hear that name- that title of authority- and dive right for Hugh’s jugular in every demeaning, culling, jealousy-driven way possible.

“How about for the drones, then,” Hugh offered in a solemn glance. “We do it for the 2,963 dormant souls in there who need us.” 

He watched Crosis ponder on his words. 

“I _still_ don’t think Bosus or Torsis will like this.” 

And Hugh let a somewhat relieved grin reveal itself. “Now _that,_ I can manage.” 

Crosis was about to offer another point when Hugh’s office comm chimed, the Director sitting up a little straighter.

“Hugh here.”  
 _“Director, there’s an incoming subspace transmission requesting a video comm with you.”_

 _Did Admiral Janeway forget something?_

“From who?”  
 _"Federation Starbase 86, sir- it’s from a high-rank Starfleet Office: Commander Geordi La Forge?”_

 _Oh_.  
Already?   
Uh-- 

He and Crosis stuttered in dumbfounded silence before Hugh found words again.  
  
“I, ah-- send the call in to my office, and tell him I will answer him in exactly a minute, thank you,” Hugh spoke, hand waving Crosis out of the meeting room, the xB giving a far-too-excited-for-his-Director-friend thumbs up. “Thank you, Thirteen.” 

As Hugh heard the door shut, he scrambled over to his reflection and preened himself once more before greeting the Commander. Hair fixing, examining his implants, adjusting his blazer- soon, Hugh was bouncing lightly as he took in one last gaze over the horizon, counting down the seconds, yawning some after the draining talks of resource allocations with Janeway. Why was he so antsy about this, what made him squeeze his hands in expectancy and practically pace the office? Midway through the yawn, the alert ping sounded that Hugh’s minute was up and he had five seconds to prepare, slinking back down into his seat and sitting up straight for the man, now, on the other side of the holo-screen. 

And there was Geordi La Forge, as bright and beautiful as ever.

“Geordi!” Hugh exclaimed. He cleared his throat, reveling in hearing the other's excited laugh, “Ah, Commander La Forge- I take it you, heard the news already?”  
 _“ Just got out of my debriefing,”_ Geordi chuckled back. _“Getting to study a sphere like that up close, working with the Reclamation Project, and seeing you again after how many years?! Accepted immediately- wouldn’t be anywhere else.”_

Hugh’s smile turned more playful, settling back into his office’s seat with a wide grin as he folded his hands. “That’s not necessarily everyone’s _first_ reaction when being told they’re going to go work with _former Borg,_ you know.”

 _“Well, those other reactions are wrong, then,”_ Geordi hummed, Hugh unable to hold back another chuckle. _“I haven’t been able to sink my teeth into anything as substantial since Utopia Planitia is... how it is, so yes: call me eager to pick my own research team underlings, study cutting edge subspace tech, and see one of my oldest, best friends.”_

What was it about how the words _‘Geordi’_ and _‘friend’_ in such close proximity to each other sparked a surge of delight in Hugh’s core? 

“I… agree, yes,” Hugh said, running the knuckle of his thumb over his chin. “Admiral Janeway was very thorough in her discussions, my tea--”   
_“Woah woah woah, you got Janeway?”_ Geordi humored. _“You failed to tell me you had Admiral Janeway show up on Ohniaka III’s doorstep.”_  
“Oh?” Hugh took the bait of the question, his smirk growing at Geordi’s enthusiasm. “And who did _you_ get.”   
Geordi sighed with an eye roll. _“No one as exciting as that. Clancy is in charge and I appreciate her ‘swearing honesty,’ sure, but my own disappointments aside…"_  
"Clancy's pretty exciting, from what I know!"  
 _"Says you. But in all seriousness, I’m excited to be officially working with you on something like this, Hugh. Genuinely.”_

It took a moment to collect the right words as Hugh suddenly fought through a bundle of nerves.

“Thank you,” he told him, “you too, Geordi. It's good to see you, by the way; my updated ocular implant is able to see better over these types of displays, as of recent- I like the extra beard.” 

The same bundle of nerves suddenly surged back as he watched Geordi’s expression morph into… what was a good descriptor- shock? Surprise? He teetered on ‘bashful’ for a moment before rearing back from its implications, the Commander letting out a befuddled “Uh--” before reclaiming his composure. 

_“I,”_ Geordi cleared his throat, _“thank you, you look… good? Too? I hope that's not weird to say- your hair’s also gotten a bit longer since last I saw you.”_

“It has, yes!” he humored. “The shorter version was easier to manage, but it’s been amusing having a bit of ‘fun’ with its look as of late.”  
 _“Ponytail might look good on you.”_  
Hugh tilted his head. “A, what?”   
Geordi rolled his eyes at his own realization. _“Right, you wouldn’t-- okay, okay- you know what a pony is, right.”_  
“Yes Geordi, I know what a pony is- small earthen mammal, relat-- ohhh,” realization hit Hugh as he recalled the animal and the visual of the tail, Geordi wholehearted laughing on the other end, “Pony, tail, the-- alright, I understand. That… hmm. I’ll think on it, that might be acceptable.”   
_“Just an idea.”_  
“I may see how that idea plays out.”

Hugh paused, looking back up to the video feed. “I appreciate it, by the way,” the Director began, “you making our initial talk light despite the reality of who’ll _be_ in our company onboard that Sphere. ...Queens aren't exactly known for their 'hospitality.'”

Geordi sighed in defeat, puffing out a cheek as he bore down for this inevitable talk. _“Yeah,”_ he started, _“I wouldn’t have accepted if I wasn’t aware of the consequences. But... I trust you, the Project, my own judgment in putting together a team… and I think considering my history with the Collective, I can at least kind of trust myself to hold my own. But I won’t lie, Hugh- it’s… they’re still a little intimidating.”_

“That's a fair emotion to have, considering. You’re sure you’re alright with this?” Hugh asked. “Queencell tech, it’s… certainly its own beast. Not to mention what you’ll have to see in _my_ department as drones undergo reclamation counseling. You _have_ been around some nastier incarnations of the Collective, but our work is taxing in its own way. It can be… tiring.” 

Geordi’s face crumpled; not out of intentional demoralization on Hugh’s part thankfully, but more out of genuine reflection- the Commander firming his lips and running a hand over a cheek. A quiet huff went through the subspace channel, Hugh worried now that he might have prodded too far. 

_“No,”_ Geordi finally said, and Hugh let out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding. _“No, I’ll be alright. Like I said, I’ve been wanting to plug myself into something, and there just haven’t been a lot of big engineering developments on the Federation side of the Galaxy. Utopia Planitia kinda brought a lot of projects of mine to a standstill, so… it’ll be good for me.”_

Geordi seemed to notice something, however, and he looked at Hugh carefully with those striking, icy eyes of his. 

“You asked me, I ask you: are _you_ sure _you’re_ going to be alright?” the Commander asked in return. “You and your group? From what I was told, this would be the Reclamation Project’s biggest assignment yet, and what I know of and _dealt_ with Borg queens, they’re…” 

Hugh waited, interested to see what Geordi had to say.   
The Commander swallowed. 

_“You said it best. Not exactly the best in 'regent hospitality.'”_  
“You’re not alone in that sentiment, Geordi. But we’ll do our best to prepare accordingly,” the Director sighed. “Our first priority is assisting with reactivated xBs’ trauma, offering them counseling, rehabilitation, all the guidance we can give before our procedural doctors begin any sort of physical offerings for operations and post-surgery physical therapy and recuperation... The Queen’s dealings, I predict, will fall mostly onto my shoulders.”

He noticed Geordi was watching him again. _“Do they… I mean, Queens- do they know you?”_

> _["They hate you, Mr Hugh."]_

“In the vaguest of senses, yes. If anything, they… well. They know _of_ me, of course; every xB has that lingering, almost… ethereal knowledge of each other, and Queens far moreso than the average drone. But Queens do not know _me,_ as I am now- although from what intel the Cooperation has on the Collective… they’re certainly not the biggest _fans_ of mine.”

Geordi chuckled again, Hugh smirking right along with him as he sat up straighter on his desk. _“Well,”_ the Commander offered, _“consider me a fan in their place. And excited to see you, not to mention- can’t believe in two weeks we’ll be cooped up in a Sphere, of all things.”_

“You want advice for staying longterm on Borg spacecraft?”  
 _“Please.”_  
“Bring a seat cushion,” Hugh offered, and he got a lively cackle out of Geordi, “your favorite. A comfy chair, good shoes- anything ergonomic. Replicator scans of _all_ those for onboard re-creation. The Collective’s spacecraft have absolutely _no_ concept of ergonomic comfort for typical humanoids so you will need at _least_ five.”  
 _“I’ll keep it in mind. Oh, one more thing- would you be willing to collaborate on some preparatory research notes for the next two weeks before we all arrive? That could probably get us nice and ready-”_  
“I’d be delighted to,” Hugh affirmed. “Send me whatever queries you have, and my team and I will respond as best we can; we’ll also create a set of Reclamation advisories we’ll have for your consultants.” 

_“Thank you, Hugh. I’ll be in touch soon.”_  
“You as well, Geordi. Thanks again. I’d missed you.”

The sincerity in his own voice surprised Hugh.

Geordi paused again. _“I-- you too,”_ he said back, his brow furrowing at Hugh’s sincerity. Before doubt had a chance to rile up inside the xB, Geordi ended the call: _“I’m excited to see you again too, Hugh. Talk soon.”_

The call ended to a bewildered Hugh’s relief, leaning back and running a hand through his hair and musing over Geordi’s words _and_ implications. For as much as the excitement of everything struck him with giddiness- reclaiming more drones into their own personhood, accessing resources for the Project, working with Geordi and Federation scientists on a technical scale of operations- the reality of the Queen’s presence still weighed heavy on the xB’s conscience. Her species had gained their thrones within the Collective with the violence of the mind, body, and soul, and he as Project Director would be facing the remnant of that violence in every manipulative, power-hungry way possible. 

But he was ready. 23 years of individuality had taught him many, many ways to use the tools he was given, and Hugh had an arsenal of not only personal experience, but the support of fellow xBs, the backing of the Federation, and a friend in a literal high place. 

Besides- like _hell_ Hugh could flub anything up around _Geordi_ , of all people.

Hugh's hand began to fiddle with his bangs again.  
Did Geordi _really_ think his hair looked good?


	2. meet and greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks after Commander Geordi La Forge was proposed overseeing Federation research on a derelict Borg Sphere, the time has come to turn on the lights at the SP-4852 Solstice station and get the party started. A party both metaphorically, and literally- three Cooperative vessels arrive at the Federation outpost, six board the station, and one pair of friends see each other again in a much more professional setting. Introductions are made, emotional waters are tested, and good company is savored against the backdrop of a Collective fortress in all its immensity, infamy, and ominous future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER TWOOOO LET'S GOOO || a well deserved geordi POV fic || last setup chapter before we get into a chapter with some action, and THEN some domestic work scenes || i see you voyager fans. i see you, i love you, and i hope you remember our vulcan engineering freak || i don't plan on referencing the Junctions too much outside of vague work-related requirements/scenarios/mentions (other than Crosis) but if people like them then i'll incorporate them more!!! || huge shoutout to @kittencuddling on twitter for drawing some killer xB fashion that i ended up textually referencing in the fic, give it a gander https://twitter.com/kittencuddling/status/1272908800975134721?s=20 || ALSO HUGE THANKS TO ROB/@MYCOROB for the fantastic references done for our titular xB support characters, check out the post here (and if you don't get some terminology like "progenitor xB" now, we'll get there >:) https://twitter.com/raijuTheHyeju/status/1304172753826709504 || hey did you know the cooperation command juggernauts looks fucking weird. check this shit out https://rb.gy/hswqk1 (also reference for what tactical cubes look like: https://rb.gy/v0xhtt ) || @raijuthehyeju on twitter where i'm an xB freak on main || thanks and god bless

**GAMMA QUADRANT - BORDER OF ALPHA QUADRANT  
20 LIGHT YEARS FROM NEAREST CIVILIZED BAJORAN/FEDERATION STAR SYSTEM  
[EARTHEN CALENDAR - AUGUST 27, 2391]  
SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE,"_ BARREN MOON TO CLASS L PLANET 'TAIJAL'**

****

> _"What does it mean to be ‘perceived,’ then- and what does it mean when this phenomenon occurs between an individual and a hivemind? Is perception by a single being’s own eyes the antithesis of collective thought when viewed through one lens, or is it the paradox of being known by something greater than yourself when that collective perceives someone in return? How different is it than when one stares into an abyss- ‘something’ that is, paradoxically, ‘absolutely nothing’- and return that nothingness with our perception, our very presence and acknowledgement of our existence by mere proximity? Do we give part of ourselves to the perception of nothingness, leaving an eternal or beheld presence upon the void’s emptiness? What do we take from nothingness, and what does nothingness take from us? We must reach a crux point, then, in our extrapolation of this present train of thought. We must end this endured, perhaps infinite repetition of self-realization of an exchange between void and individuality, as to not lose ourselves to an abyss of collective thought once more. The--"_

A comm-badge chirped and broke him from thought.

“ _Commander La Forge; Behr from Ops._ ”

Geordi tore his attention from the book on the PADD and patted his chest. 

“Go ahead, Ensign.”  
“ _The Reclamation Project should be arriving within proximity range of transport in 6 minutes, 30 seconds sir- and will be dropping out of warp in 3 minutes, 27 seconds. Their fleet complement is reported at 3 ships: 2 Tactical Cubes, and one ‘Command Juggernaut.’”_

Finally.

“Thank you, Behr. Inform all incoming vessels they’re authorized to set up anchor orbits relative to the station, and have Commander Vorik meet me in Transporter Room 1 in five minutes with Commander Bartholomew and Lieutenants Ha’arshov, Tal’Wen, and Hagirian. We may have work to do bright and early, but let’s keep the Ambassadorial intent tonight; the Reclamation Project has traveled quite a ways for all this.” 

“ _Understood, sir._ ”

The communicator ceased its chitter, and after a bone-cracking stretch and wrapping up his reading’s chapter, Commander Geordi La Forge rose from his desk to approach the Ready Room’s window. Experience with Starfleet taught him he ought to be trotting off to the Transporter Bay already, and experience with diplomacy told him he should be there at _least_ three minutes before the company arrived. But the engineer in Geordi beckoned him to admire the ruined Borg Sphere hanging above the moon’s rounded horizon… and most importantly, the friend in him told Geordi to wait and watch for Hugh’s ships to arrive.

After all, he hadn’t seen a Cooperative Command Juggernaut in person yet- a Commander of an entire Starfleet research station _had_ to observe it at least _once_ from the groundbefore anything. 

There. _Perfect_ excuse. 

As strange as it sounded, Geordi was almost used to the sight of the derelict Sphere by this point after pouring over its holographic renditions for two weeks straight, just wanting to get _inside_ and start _working_ already. While the hastily-completed station had disbursed scout drones around and inside the Sphere thanks to its exterior hull damage, no living crew had been sent within the structure yet, at both Starfleet’s advisory and the Cooperation’s immediate instructions to avoid entrance at all costs until the Reclamation Project arrived. As Hugh’s report had indicated and Starfleet’s scans proved true, although the structure was by all means ‘dead,’ three attributes still inside would’ve made the Sphere a possibly-volatile environment to work in until properly decommissioned: the Queencell’s control core, Central Unimatrix Data Hub, and finding where, exactly, said Queen _was._ Based off preliminary scans from Geordi and what Hugh’s instinctual knowledge theorized, she was most likely in protective stasis within the Queencell; severed from her unimatrix, the Collective, and choosing degradation rather than face individuality. Venturing inside the Sphere to address these issues was going to be a high-intensity, almost ‘scary’ mission, if Commander La Forge allowed himself to think too long on it. Gripping a Type 3 phaser to stun possible system defenses, creeping through a Borg Sphere in EV suits to plug life support back in, extracting a Queen’s head to bring into a quarantine chamber (and augh, their creepy spine-heads, how could he forget)... but Geordi was with a good team. Worry couldn’t gnaw at the Commander too much, considering the factors that provided that mental safety net. He trusted Hugh, the xB’s selected company, the Reclamation Project, his _own_ team he’d hand-picked from his own decision and direction (save for a few pre-selected officers at Starfleet’s request)... 

And there, suddenly, dropping out of a subspace warp conduit, emerged two Cooperative Tactical Cubes and a Command Juggernaut.

Cooperative starships, while similar to their Borg Collective counterparts, had a few giveaways to differentiate and individualize their vessels. Each starship had a unique placement of the Cooperative’s cube-like emblem on the hull with a name written in xB script, they glowed with an almost brilliant white-blue instead of the eerie green associated with the Borg, and modifications to its exterior hull were made to provide an obvious bridge and other quality-of-life improvements. While Geordi was enamored by seeing two Cooperative Tactical Cubes in person (thankfully far smaller than their titanic Borg relatives), the Command Juggernaut was by far the most perplexing to look at, reminding him more of a strange polygonal palace rather than a starship. Almost ‘wobbly’ in proportions with its bridge extending outwards and an “arm” emerging from a side panel, it almost looked as if the starship was designed with 'decentralization' at its core theme, Geordi admittedly expecting something much more… shapely? Rectangular? He wouldn’t get very far by trying to match it to a _shape_ ; if anything, Geordi decided to watch the cooling lights of the warp drives dim and switch to impulse, a smile spreading over his face as a thought surged into an overwhelming sense of immensity...

 _Look at you now_ _, Hugh,_ he mused. Look at what the Cooperative had been able to champion, to helm, and to _become_ in just two mere decades… it was practically unfathomable, who would've ever expected one drone- one drone that started _all_ of this! And look at him now- from a hungry crash survivor locked in the _Enterprise’s_ cellar, to boldly leading three ships halfway across the quadrant for humanitarian services; the imagination of Hugh standing over a bridge crew with that warm, kind smile of his was almost too much for the Commander... 

Geordi’s hand went to rub at his beard.

_He wondered what Data would think of it all now._

And as the ships disbursed to begin their orbital anchoring procedures, Geordi realized he should _probably_ get moving by this point, smiling to no one in particular as he trotted out his Ready Room door.

Hardly one hall down and a corner turn later, Commander La Forge spied another ambassador uniform heading into a turbolift, the bowl cut of Geordi’s Vulcan sub-commander just as unmistakable as the engineering yellow and his consistently-resting frown. 

“Vorik,” the Commander greeted, “fancy meeting you here.” 

“Indeed. Apologies, Commander,” the Vulcan offered as Geordi entered, “I had intended to be earlier so I may greet you at the bay, but I found myself entrenched in preparatory readings before departing my quarters. ‘Transporter deck,’” he told the lift, and the turbolift cabin began its ferry there.

“No problem, Commander,” Geordi assured, “if anything, I encourage it. May I ask what you were reading?” 

“Of course. I was familiarizing myself with the most recently-published Federation xenoanthropology observations on the new Sontubus II colony.” 

“The Reclamation Project’s most recent settlement!” Geordi remembered. “Anything in particular catch your eye?”

“For something in ‘particular to catch my eye,’ that would imply there were parts that I was uninterested in, or preferred more over the other. Quite the contrary,” Vorik elaborated, “if anything, I was struck by an odd sense of... 'nostalgia' for each social observation I read about, if my service record with Starfleet provides context. Although, upon reflection, I believe the proper term is ' _déjà vu_.'”

Geordi paused, eyeing his sub-Commander up and down. “They pulled a few folks from old _Voyager_ for a reason, Commander. And it wasn’t an assignment you were _forced_ to take.” 

Vorik nodded in polite agreement. “Indeed,” he spoke, “it was an offering and recommendation I would expect nothing less of from my former Captain. To this day, even as an admiral,” Vorik mused, “she remains resourceful, and knows well when to ‘show the Federation’s hand,’ as I believe the human saying goes. If Vulcans were a betting people, I would say that she was hoping this experience could provide _Voyager’s_ crew with some sort of… ‘closure,’ if you will.”

The turbolift stopped and opened, allowing the Commanders to proceed down the hall where Geordi spied the other Lieutenants pouring into the transporter room ahead of them.

“Not nervous, are you?” 

“I’ve had a _particularly_ colorful history in my years of service to Starfleet with former Borg drones, Commander,” Vorik hummed stoically, the two entering as Geordi nodded to the presiding Lieutenants. “As a Vulcan, I am inclined to say that I am neither ‘thrilled’ nor ‘dreading’ the experience of working with the Liberated Borg Cooperative until further personal interactions lend my anticipation otherwise.”

“Would you say, then,” Geordi mused as he took up space beside him to speak to the group, “that right now you’re willing to, at least… ‘Cooperate’ with them?” 

Vorik gave him a flat look.

“Creative, sir.”  
“I had to.” 

He then turned to face the station’s head officers of their respective department, Geordi’s icy eyes darting over the company as his chest puffed and jaw set itself.

“Everyone,” he began, “thank you for attending this meeting, and _welcoming_ the Cooperation’s entourage to the _Solstice_ station. Our mission for the next six months may be rooted in the pursuit of scientific discovery, but it will also be a mission of critical importance to favorable, diplomatic ties between both the Federation and Cooperation. This is a civilization that has erupted both within our lifetimes _and_ out of a very suppressive species; it is imperative we foster both pleasant relations and a welcoming atmosphere with xBs, as they _are_ your advisory seniority as declared by Starfleet’s Admiral Council. As you are well aware from your debriefings, while _we_ will be working mostly on the technical side of affairs, 300 Reclamation Project members will be be performing not _only_ medical procedures and assisting us with technological research, but also rehabilitation of former Borg drones- helping them acclimate and reintegrate into all mental, emotional, and physical ideas of individuality. These people you are about to meet… know that each xB has a personality they have very much fought to create, keep, reclaim, protect, and _share_ with others after emerging from suppression of identity at the hands of the Borg Collective. Treat this, as you would, a first contact mission- with grace, hospitality, willingness to understand, and an open mind to a culture that, just as we are learning from them, they are learning from us. As such, any observed or recorded instances of bigotry, harassment, or judgment based upon their origins and/or nature as former Borg go against the very spirit of Federation peace and understanding between species, and will not be tolerated by my supervision; it will warrant possible immediate termination and dismissal from this project, should said behavior not be corrected if addressed. Do I make myself clear?” 

Everyone nodded- some with thinned lips, some wider eyes- some glancing back and forth between the Commander and the transporter pad behind him.

“Yes, Sir.”

He nodded to the gathered. “Good.”  
“Commander La Forge,” the transporter chief spoke, “we’re receiving Cooperation requests to beam over.”  
Geordi turned to face the pad with an excited grin. 

“Energize.” 

And into the Transporter Room shimmered a company of four Cooperation citizens with Reclamation Project Director Hugh at their front.

For the evening of diplomacy, it seemed as if Hugh and his company had gone for the more dramatic, stylistic voyeurism of current Cooperation fashion. The designs looked even more elegant in person than it ever would in images; every xB’s outfit focused on geometric patterns and jet black contrasts, save for the streaks of white that uniquely criss-crossed their outfits and complimented the Cooperative emblems on their chests. For Hugh, this was certainly a change than what Geordi had seen him in before; a high collar with a silver-and-gold zipper? Black gloves that covered his arms down to his fingertips? Knee high boots and jacket tails to match?! Perhaps it was the shimmer of the remnant transporter energy, or perhaps the bravado by which the company carried themselves that lended to their flair, even their facial remnants of Borg implants shining a little brighter than usual. In any case, the Cooperation was already offering its own radiance to the Station, and Geordi La Forge was all the more pleased to welcome such a resilient (and surprisingly fashionable) people. 

“Volunteers to the Reclamation Project of the Liberated Borg Cooperative,” he announced, “welcome to Starbase SP-4852 _Solstice._ It is an honor, and privilege, to host you.” 

The group followed behind Hugh immediately as he approached- an uncommon action for most ambassadorial entourages to do. Usually, the chosen leader would emerge first to greet the host, leaving the rest of their company behind until summoned for escort; here, however, the Cooperative moved _with_ their leader, their Director, as if Hugh were merely a community guide. For the xBs seemed to have their own autonomy, even in group settings, and that autonomy (hand in hand with instinctual synchronization) was something to be treasured at all costs.

“Commander Geordi La Forge,” Hugh announced in greeting, his gait proud and his expression warm, “as Reclamation Project Director, is an honor in return to be hosted for such wonderful opportunities. The Cooperative’s Reclamation Project thanks you, Starfleet, and The United Federation of Planets for your hospitality and your willingness to... 'cooperate,' with the _Cooperative_.” 

Geordi dearly wished he could’ve seen Vorik’s face.

_You wear pride well, Mr. Hugh._

“No better way to do it, Director. This is Lieutenant Commander Vorik, my Second-in-Command onboard this station- Lieutenant Commander Bartholomew, Chief Medical Officer- Lieutenants Ha’arshov, Tal’Wen, and Hagirian: Cybernetics, Programming, and Engineering Research Department Leads, respectively,” he elaborated by gesture. “The Federation’s aligned faction partnership representatives we’ll all meet tomorrow- upon the success of our inaugural mission to the Sphere,” Geordi alluded, subtly trying to hide an unamused frown. 

“I cannot speak for my fellow company,” Hugh began, “but I, at least, am pleased with what staffing we are already graced with. Thank you, all of you- for attending our arrival, and we wish nothing but enlightening discoveries, collaboration, and smooth progress on all fronts during our time working together.”  
Hugh then motioned to the furthest xB in the group from his right. “I will let my company speak for themselves.” 

_Another nod to the value of individual autonomy,_ Geordi pondered: _should I have let my officers introduce themselves?  
_

An xB Geordi remembered from his last visit to Ohniaka III _(what was his name again, ‘Croesus?’)_ smiled pleasantly at the Commander. “Reclamation Project Director Second, Crosis.” 

_Close._

When Crosis unfolded his hands, the xB beside him—formerly Vulcan, by the look of it— bowed as well in a long, xB-yet-Vulcan-influenced coat, their jaw lined with an augmentation that seemed to run the length of the bone, and a hand completely made of xB Reclamation tech. “Cyberneticist Junction, V’evik.”

“Engineering Junction, Five of Ten,” spoke the Human beside V'evik: Black and half a head taller than Geordi, both of her eyes were lined underneath by scarring and implants, remnants of exo-plating dotting long-removed head augmentations and rivaled by a beautiful headwrap bundling her hair. “You may call me Five.” 

Next to her, a Betazoid-looking soul with an eye augmentation that also served as a scanner; dark hair trimmed shaggy and short to their head, and a kind expression to rival their sharp features. They wore gloves similar to that of Hugh's, Betazoid eyes wide and seemingly extending their empathetic sensory to the entire room. “Reclamation Medical Resource Junction, Troval.” 

Geordi glanced over his own company as the Cooperation introduced themselves.   
Vorik, another Vulcan, seemed to be particularly interested in V’evik.

Predictable. 

“A privilege to meet you all, and thank you for joining us this evening. _Solstice_ has prepared you individual quarters, an entire research wing, and common area to utilize at your discretion that we will be touring. For this _evening_ , after the tour,” Geordi continued, allowing a grin to ebb onto his face, “we have prepared a station-wide celebration to begin in 200 hours- both in honor of _Solstice’s_ official service launch, and also for your safe arrival and acquaintanceship with the station crew, should you so wish to attend. Reclamation staff still onboard their vessels are all welcome to attend. If you would like to retire instead to your private quarters here or vessels after the tour is complete, you are, of course, free to do so.”

The xBs all seemed pleasantly surprised by this revelation, and some exchanged glances (and others a few hushed whispers to those they were near to). As if waiting to sense the mood between his group, Hugh merely listened, silent as his eyes scanned each Starfleet officer in the room with him as his Cooperative collaborated.

“As Director, I must thank you for the hospitality already, Commander. For now,” Hugh ended, “I will say for my compliment that we are all entitled to our own actions, and are very intrigued to see what _Solstice_ has to offer. We shall complete our pre-established tour first and foremost before any further decision is made on our individual attendance.” 

Hugh puffing his chest, threw Geordi a bone in the form of a grin and verbal tease. 

“But I believe that, at this current point, _I_ at least am planning to attend, Commander.” 

“Of course you are,” Crosis spoke, surprising Geordi and earning an eyeroll from Hugh.  
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Director Second Crosis.”   
“Of course, Director Hugh.”

And as the company of xBs smirked and snickered (with even their _Vulcan_ V’evik showing a glimmer of amusement), Geordi dearly wished he would’ve turned around to watch his officers’ reactions to the xBs’ polite candor in banter. 

“Well then,” Geordi hummed, let’s not waste any time. Follow me.” 

* * *

At the risk of sounding too much like Vorik, Geordi would have called the near hour-long tour of the _Solstice_ “fascinating,” if not for the peppered-in hints of “amusing” that Hugh brought both as Project Director and friend. Clever and polite banter littered their conversations as Geordi and his team described the _Solstice’s_ technical outfitting, Geordi even making casual conversation with Crosis once he’d remembered more about him from their last meeting (even admitting he almost got his name mistaken for an old Earthen king, which Crosis didn’t seem to mind _too_ much). The Cooperative members appreciated the stations’ layout, their provided common area, and quarters given to them well enough, even the Reclamation… “Chief Medical Officer,” he guessed he could categorize them as, thrilled by how large the quarters were. “What will I do with all this space?” they mused, standing in the middle of a shown quarters’ living room; upon Commander La Forge’s reply of “anything you'd like, Junction Troval,” the xB replied with a pleasant grin and an “I like the way you think.” 

The Junctions, by far, were some of the more memorable delegates Geordi had encountered in his service with Starfleet. For Reclamation Project divisions, the label “Junction” was chosen intentionally, Hugh explained; less of a declaration of authority, the title was meant to encourage circulation of thought and theory by all members of the department- a sort of “balanced relay” by which Junctions not only offered their skill, but expertise as a council rather than strict superiority. Though there were 294 other xBs (alongside a Starfleet staff of 307) that would remain stationed on the Sphere or Cooperative starships, Geordi was already captivated by these six at hand, excitement bubbling at the prospect and imaginations of working with them and what they’d discover onboard the Sphere. The once-human Engineering Junction Five of Ten, whom he’d learned she’d come from Earth, originally- was taken by the Borg at the battle of Wolf 359, and salvaged by a Reclamation scout ship combing through old Collective confrontation sites. Geordi even noticed Vorik was made curious by the Cyberneticist V’evik’s inquisitiveness, learning that their name was, once, very similar to Vorik’s own. After assimilation and only knowing the designation ‘Seven’ for so many years, the Vulcan decided to blend both their old name and deadname into something entirely new upon their reclamation (with a verbal similarity to ‘Seven’), Geordi surprised at seeing his sub-commander both impressed and speechless at his compatriot’s resolution.

Once the tour of _Solstice_ was complete, the xB company dismissed themselves to prepare for a casual night of dinner and grow more acquainted with their quarters onboard _Solstice_. As the company departed and his own crew were dismissed, Geordi was pleased to hear Hugh ask if he could “speak to him personally,” Geordi complying with an “Of Course” and a nod to follow him. 

“Thank you for the tour of the _Solstice_ station, Commander La Forge,” Hugh chimed as the Ready Room's doors shut behind them. “I feel it’ll be superb in aiding the Reclamation Project’s mission and aid.”

“Oh, no problem at all, Director Hugh,” Geordi crooned back. “Happy to play the guide for such _esteemed guests_ Starfleet and I are able to host.”  
“Yes.”  
“Mmm, yes, right.”  
“Yes yes, of course.” 

The two stood in silence, lips pursed, avoiding eye contact with hands behind their backs… and hard snorts of laughter suddenly filled the room as their composure crumbled, unable to keep straight faces and Geordi, breaking professionalism, turning to Hugh with (thankfully returned) open arms with a quick “Ooh, come here, you--” 

And the two were suddenly laughing as they shared a good, strong hug, chuckling with back pats and smiles as wide as could be, Geordi reveling that his friend was still just as reciprocative as last he’d seen him. 

Two years since their last visit, and good to know Hugh still gave just as good hugs.

“You look _amazing,_ by the way-” the Commander scoffed in jest, “look at you! The gloves, jacket- wear _that_ on a Starbase and you’ll be the talk of its entire Promenade, Mr. Hugh--!”  
The xB was positively beaming, Geordi feeling a laugh swell in his chest again as the xB put a hand to his chin and smirked in a gratuitous pose. “Oh, I long for the day where I can enter a starbase and be talked about _just_ for my fashion choice. you, though, you’re one to talk; you look fantastic in the new uniforms, I don’t believe I’ve ever even _seen_ you in Red!” 

“Oh it’s not just you, it’s been a _long_ time since I’ve worn a command uniform,” Geordi sighed playfully, “not since when red was still for _Engineering_ staff, I think… I’m still getting used to not seeing _yellow_ when I see myself in the mirror.”

“Well- it’s a good look on you, my friend,” Hugh crooned. “We seem to be aging alongside time rather handsomely, don’t you think.”

It took Geordi a moment to recover from the mental stumble of that flattery.

As if Hugh himself realized what he’d said, he swallowed with a timid grin, looking around Geordi’s ready room and eyeing the still-bare shelves behind his main work desk. “If I may ask; did you travel light for this mission?”

“No- I just got here yesterday morning,” Geordi sighed, looking around the place, “haven’t even had a minute to decorate. I took the time to make replicator scans of my memorabilia back on Earth before I left, but I might use the evening to send some furniture patterns I have on file to the industrial replicator... We’re all gonna be here for six months, might as well make it comfortable.”

“I’m debating whether or not I want to go through the task of setting up _another_ regeneration alcove on this station, once we reset the ones on the Sphere,” Hugh mused with a frown. “I’d just keep business affairs in the provided study here; no point in having _three_ ‘beds,’ technically...” 

“Never hurts to have access to a quick nap on hand,” Geordi offered. “There are times where I _wish_ I could have a bed in my own office and just lock the door. Turn the lights off, hang a little ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign outside…”   
“Oh, as if having to put one on your _face_ standing _up_ in your own alcove is much better, lest people think they cannot hear you and yell _far_ too loud when they enter your open office _during_ one of those ‘naps’--”   
“Has that happened before?!”   
“Only twice,” Hugh assured, “both of whom were Federation xenoanthropology interns with us on the last colony the Reclamation Project was at. They were both so apologetic and fearful I’d put something on their record, you’d think I were a Starfleet Academy teacher...”   
“You didn’t, did you?”   
“No,” Hugh assured, “I merely put a note in my reports that they were both ‘ensuring attentive studiousness amongst their peers.’” 

_Smug little shit._

“You have a lovely view of the Sphere, may I add,” Hugh noted, looking out the observation window towards the Borg artifact, “very lovely. We all thought it was quite… stirring when we first arrived, you know- some of my group had not seen an Unreclaimed Sphere in person for many, many years. Myself included, admittedly.”  
“You and your group’s quarters have a pretty good view of it too,” Geordi reminded. “I may or may not have requested construction include a view that saw over the crater's rim for you.”  
“Perfect. Thank you, I appreciate the accommodations.”  
“No problem.” 

The men paused, allowing a reflection to hang between them. 

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Geordi finally asked. 

Hugh thinned his lips, allowing a small sigh to escape him as he mulled over not only words, but possibly emotions in such a loaded question. “It is… not something I would call ‘fear,’” Hugh started, “but perhaps rather… ‘intimidation?’ ‘Immensity?’ ‘Weight’ combined with ‘importance.’ We all know what to do; we’ve been over the plan to secure the Queencell control core _and_ central data hub dozens of times now in case things go awry. I am not... 'afraid' of this Queen,” Hugh told him, “but I am certainly aware of the power she has. …’had,’ rather; she no longer has power over these drones, much to her discontent. Power that _was_ the Borgs’ original sapience; a purely instinctual sapience, mind you, that took neither joy, pleasure, nor sadness from others' assimilation. And now, it is a power that the Queens manipulated the rest of the Collective into: subjugation and subservience. A piece of us will always be held by the Queens… and each one of us, in turn, bears a piece of the Queens deep within. And _that…_ that alone, that capability of what we were left with or what we could become- frightens me, Geordi.” 

Memories of his recent readings wafted back as Geordi pondered on how to comfort Hugh.

"Forgive me, I- rambled a bit there."

> _Do we give part of ourselves to the perception of nothingness, leaving an eternal or beheld presence upon the void’s emptiness?  
> _ _What do we take from nothingness, and what does nothingness take from us?_

  
“If it’s fair to say, Hugh,” he offered the Director, “I think that power strikes fear into all of us. Queens, the idea of becoming a drone against your will… it’s not a fear someone easily forgets. Experiences, our existences against conflict- it all adds up. Adds wisdom. But remembering _why_ we’re all here- that manages to _calm_ that fear a little, doesn’t it? Learning more about Borg technology, rehabilitating and reclaiming drones and offering them better lives rather than just wasting away in an old, abandoned Sphere… that’s why we’re here,” Geordi repeated, “why we’re gonna get it done. ...And you have my support in doing that with every resource I’m able to offer you.”

Hugh paused, then, his eyes darting back to the window before thinning his lips. 

“Are _you_ nervous for tomorrow?”

_God yes._

“A little bit,” Geordi admitted, “but I’m coping better knowing you’ll be leading the operation. Call me in good hands.” 

Hugh’s face marinated in humbled flattery.

“Thank you, Geordi. That comforts me to hear.” 

And before he continued, before _Geordi_ could continue thinking on that train of thought, Hugh’s gaze swung towards Geordi’s desk, eyeing the digital cover of a PADD’s periodical. “I, ah-” he cleared his throat, “see you’ve been doing some reading?” Hugh crooned. 

Geordi’s eyes darted from Hugh’s face to the PADD he’d left open on his desk. “Yeah, I-- wanted to brush up on some xB literature over the past couple of weeks. Great stuff, so far- very… introspective?” He tried to explain. “Immense, really. This author, Twenty of…”

“Twenty of Sixty, may I guess?”   
“Yes! She has a great talent for painting spectacles about the value of independent thought.”   
“It’s striking, if anything,” Hugh agreed, “Twenty is from the Cooperation’s _first_ off-world colony from Ohniaka III; her pieces are quickly becoming some of the most popular in periodical philosophy throughout Cooperative thinker enclaves. Aaand you didn’t hear this from me, but from what I’ve heard, she’s publishing a new collection of writings within the coming _weeks.”  
_ “I’ll be sure to subscribe, then,” Geordi offered back.

He felt, then, words hang on his tongue; as he pondered whether or not they would be too much, Geordi sensed the former Borg watching him with curious intrigue. 

It was true, then—just as much as it was gossiped about now—, it was still just as true as it had been all those years ago when he first met Hugh.

xBs truly had the most intense, captivating stares. 

“Geordi?”

_Even the way Hugh says his name hadn't changed a day._

“It’s amazing, you know,” Geordi finally began as he shook his head and cusped his chin, “I admire it, actually. How much you, the Cooperative, the Reclamation Project… how much work you’ve done since I first met you, Hugh. I mean- 23 years after making you a power cell converter after your ship’s accident, and you’re out here organizing an entire rehabilitation program for other drones cut off from the Collective? I, that’s… not many people get to say they witness the birth of a new culture, Hugh; much less know the guy who helped _start_ it. And even _despite_ being people awful towards you, horrible and judgmental and close-minded, you just-- power through them, you...”

Geordi turned his attention back to Hugh, and the sense of déjà vu nearly overwhelmed the Commander. Contemplation shot through Hugh’s darting eyes and his face streamed through 50 emotions all at once, as if he were contemplating and trying to figure out his emotions at hand like a very old friend of his would do. It welled an old ache in Geordi’s chest, and he felt the weight of not only time’s burden of absence, but also the sensation of realizing, of _remembering,_ how much he loved watching that phenomenon in real time.

_Just like Data used to._

Suddenly, with a reaction Geordi could only label as ‘sheepish,’ Hugh tilted his head back up- his face calm, but pleased.

“...It’s alright, you know,” Hugh teased.  
A small smirk grew out of that formerly sheepish face, “you can say _‘resist_.””

And Geordi laughed, shaking his head at the other chuckling man. “Don’t-- I was being serious, you, come on-”  
“Forgive me, I couldn’t help myself--”  
“Forgiveness _denied,_ ” Geordi scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stepped towards the office replicator. “Anything to drink in particular? Your choice.”

“Ah-- a synthehol champagne, perhaps?" Hugh asked "I can only handle liquors that are so strong.” 

“No problem at all- better for both of us come tomorrow morning.”

Geordi had two bubbling flutes created from the replicator, the Commander gingerly bringing both to join Hugh near the observation window. Hugh, with a comforted gaze, took the glass from Geordi’s hand, admiring the sight of both the glass and his friend.

“It is called a ‘toast’ on Earth, correct?”  
Geordi gave him a flat grin. “You tried this _last_ time I saw you; don't think I forgot already.”

"I know," Hugh returned with a proud smirk. “Just wanted to hear you say it first.” 

“Fine. A toast, then,” he humored, raising before Hugh’s glass, “to enlightenment, realization, and ...reclamation.”

Hugh smiled.

“I like that. A toast, indeed.” 

And Hugh’s flute tinged Geordi’s against the shadow of the Sphere.


	3. an empire's ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to finally crack open that Borg Sphere and head inside, beginning the process of converting the derelict Borg ruin into the galaxy's first Federation/Cooperation co-joint operation for scientific exploration and drone reclamation. With a trusted, smart, and knowledgeable team at your side, how would you feel initiating an infiltration mission co-led by one of your oldest friends, the same friend who was partially responsible for you even being here in the first place? As the Executive Director, it might be a little intimidating, and you may hit some bumps in the road, but you feel like you can take on anything. Maybe even finding out where the hell that Queen is, anyway.
> 
> What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it again with the gay borg boy POV || thanks to the portal 2 OST for helping reach my M I N D P A L A C E to flesh out this chapter || content warning for some descriptions of gore and mental health crisis situation || prepare for a lot of general "mission dialogue" and action-y bits || there won't be too much of a wait between this and next chapter. promise :) || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

_“Clancy, if you tell them to ‘be careful’ one more time, I’m going to stick my hand through this transmission and put it right over your mouth.”_

_“Call me_ cautious _then, Kathryn; not all of us are an Admiral who’s been onboard Borg vessels more than once and lived to tell the tale of it.”_

 _“Mmm; difference of perspective thanks to experience, I suppose. What would_ you _advise then, Mr. Hugh?”_

“Whatever hasn’t been advised already. ‘Careful’ _is_ a word I wouldn’t mind exercising in practice, Admiral Janeway; and I do thank you, Clancy, for your well wishes. If anything, however… we need efficiency, first and foremost; a trait I believe you yourselves praised xBs’ excellence in. ‘Care’ is almost a given for the mission we’re about to embark on; wouldn’t you agree, Commander La Forge?” 

“Oh, that and more, Director Hugh; you’re certainly wise in that discretion. In my own offerings, we’ve got a great enough team thanks to the Reclamation Project and Federation’s allotments; we’ll certainly do our best to keep morale up, but adherence to both being ‘careful’ _and_ our own efficiency on getting in and ‘setting up shop’.”

_“Mmn- hell of a ‘shop’ we’re opening, then. Gentlemen, consider this debrief complete, and we thank you today for the service both you and your team are about to embark on. Admiral Janeway and I will be awaiting your reports at your earliest convenience, remain on standby in case of emergency, and on behalf of all of Starfleet and the Federation: we wish you utmost safety and care.”_

_“'Be careful’. ...Oh and ah, Commander La Forge; when you arrive back at_ Solstice _, request Commander Vorik he check in with the station’s mail depot next he’s able. Tell him it’s ‘on the house.’”_

“Will do, Admiral. Thank you Clancy, Janeway.”   
“Thank you, Admirals.” 

And the screens fizzled out of the tiny cabin, Hugh exhaling and straightening his shoulders in the tight EV suit as he looked to Geordi. 

“No pressure, of course.”  
“Right? Right, no pressure,” Geordi sighed, “no pressure at all.”

Stepping out of the _Santiago’s_ runabout command cabin with Geordi, Hugh had to pull his eyes away from the front windows' view of the cavern torn into the side of the Borg Sphere, back to the company that filled the main bridge and small lobby. All company present were dressed in their EV suits: three xB Relays (the equivalent, Hugh supposed, to Federation ‘Ensigns’), Junctions Five, Crosis, and V’evik, alongside three Federation Ensigns, Lieutenant Ha’arshov, Lieutenant Hagirian, and Commander Vorik. Both Haigirian and Vorik were piloting their way deeper towards the ‘mouth of the beast,’ debris and scrap flying by the runabout’s viewports as Hugh found, yet again, his sights drawn to the Sphere and what they could see of it so far, though comforted to see the Reclamation Tactical Cubes positioned on both sides.

He would have thought ‘in case anything went awry,’ but Hugh didn’t want to give way to that mindset too quickly.   
So instead, Hugh relished in the self-made imagination of their Cooperation starships perched like guardians; sentinels watching over something that was lost, and may now be given a new purpose.

“Two minutes, fifteen seconds until touchdown, Commander,” Vorik said. “All readings and preliminary scans have indicated the same stasis the Borg Sphere has remained in from our initial and continued examinations.” 

“Thank you Commander,” Geordi called to them, “set _Santiago_ on auto-pilot and come get your helmets and equipment. No use biting our nails over a hijack that shouldn’t come.” 

_‘Biting our nails?’ What did that even me--  
_ _He’d have to remember to ask Geordi about that one later._

And pulled out of thought, Hugh suddenly felt the stares of his fellow xBs awaiting his command- even the Starfleet Ensigns eyeing the Director out of curiosity as the company prepared for arrival. 

“Well... I-”

The Director cleared his throat.

“Commander La Forge and I have… already given our length in words before we departed _Solstice-_ all in what we are to do, and what we may encounter. So instead, as the Reclamation Project's Executive Director, I impart you with this."  
Hugh reset his jaw. "...We enter the domain of a species that may _value_ themselves as one unit, but they do not value _individual_ life, nor the individual _bodies_ that make that unit whole. I, Commander La Forge- all your associates here today, Starfleet _or_ Cooperative- enter that Sphere as one, as an _equal unit_... but I believe I can speak for the group when I say we value each life here. And despite whatever we may find inside, we are all here today- making the conscious choice to enter this ruin, this 'Artifact,' despite those risks. So I thank you; I commend you, even. It is-- not easy, even for the likes of _us,_ " he admitted with a hand to his chest. "As Director, as a fellow individual, I will do my best to serve and protect you, as we aid each others’ service- bound by both honor and duty as Starfleet officers and Reclamation Project Volunteers. And at times like these, that is… all I can do is my best.” 

Crosis, Five, V’evik, and the Starfleet personnel seemed to take that in well enough. 

And before Hugh’s jaw shuddered and nerves jolted in trying to think of anything else to say, or steep in the worry that he somehow had overstepped his boundaries, Geordi chimed in with his own wonderful thoughts, putting his hand on his shoulder and giving it an affirming squeeze while he spoke. 

That was nice.  
Very nice, in fact.

_So why did it feel like fire?_

“Well, you’ve got me beat for the ‘rousing away team mission speech,’” Geordi mused, Hugh flattered as he spied the Starfleet crew smirking at their Commander (save for Vorik and V’evik). “But I agree, and I commend you all as Commander of the _Solstice_ station. Your records will show that you chose immense bravery by accepting this assignment, and your personal character will carry this with you in unspoken esteem. We’re not only on the precipice of learning some incredible scientific breakthroughs, but one thing that the Director failed to mention that the Reclamation Project knows well and I think bears repeating... There are 2,963 dormant drones inside that Sphere that need the Cooperative’s help. And you all- Starfleet, Cooperative, whatever- you’re helping make that salvation possible. They may have a long road ahead of them to recovery, but… we can at least bring them to a good starting point. Even if that starting point is ‘entering into a dormant, kind-of-spooky-looking Sphere with half its side blown off.”

The entire complement chuckled at the comment (save for Vorik; V’evik managed a _smirk,_ could one believe).   
And while Geordi’s words were all reassuring, wise, and even _kind_ for a Starfleet Commander, Hugh caught himself reeling over one very important (if small) thing he noticed in Geordi’s speech. 

_He_ actually _remembered the exact number of drones that were on the Sphere?_

“‘Spooky,’ you’re being reserved,” Hugh humored the Commander. 

Crosis rolled his eyes. “I was waiting for someone to say it.”   
“It _is_ quite beautiful, despite its purpose,” Five hummed as the Runabout slowed in approach, “how poisoned such simple architecture can become under such a violent influence.”   
“If you’re, uh, talking about the Queen,” an Ensign managed, visibly swallowing his nerves, “at least she won’t be there for long?”  
Five turned to him with a gentle, tired look. “Yes,” she agreed, “you’re right. She will not. And we will all be free to perform our duties.”

“Alright everyone,” Geordi called, the crew feeling their craft begin to descend, “In assigned order and into the airlock. We keep formation until we reach the Queencell; Hagirian, Relay Four- you're our home base here: keep locks on our signals at all times.” 

Both chimed with an “Aye, Sir.”

“Tactical Cubes _Theta, Iota;”_ Hugh spoke with a slap to his Cooperation badge, _“_ remain on standby to anchor with tractor beams, and confirm Transporter Bays and Reclamation Medbay readiness to accept possible patients.” 

“ _Operations Primary Junction Twelve of Fifteen, reporting for Tactical Cube Theta; ready and on standby for both counts, Director.”_   
“ _Operations Primary Junction Flora, reporting for Tactical Cube Iota; ready and on standby for both counts, Director.”_

“ _Solstice_ station, Deck 4, Special Containment Chamber 1,” Geordi requested his own communicator, “confirm chamber readiness to receive Sphere Borg Queen.” 

_“At the ready, Commander- Reclamation and Starfleet personnel equipped and prepared to receive in pre-discussed procedures.”_

And the _Santiago_ landed with a light thud, the company donning their helmets with the airlock preparing to open its compartment doors.

Commander La Forge steeled himself with a sigh. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

Far in the deep recesses of his memory, Hugh could remember the snow that dotted his face the day his scout ship crash-landed and his life truly began. The broken bits of Borg spacecraft littered at his side, the bodies of his fellow drones warped and mangled by the hard impact to the snowy terrain… he was not awake for long, but before succumbing to unconsciousness, Hugh began his repeated hailing frequency, falling back into an unknown expanse of darkness and loneliness, dearly hoping to hear the Collective's voices once more.

Although not exactly a 'pleasant' memory, Hugh savored and treasured it as one of his first.

He was unsettled, then, by how much wandering in this section of the Sphere reminded him of it.

Out of the _Santiago’s_ airlock, the EV Suits' mag-lev boots kept the group anchored to the flat debris plane they entered the Sphere by, helmet pilot lights creating tall, foreboding shadows from the Sphere’s shredded lunar "impact skid" gashes. Bodies of mangled, dead drones floated in space alongside wreckage of all shapes and sizes, some drones cut and bisected by the weak force field instilled by an almost ‘instinctual’ life support, as Five would explain. Starfleet’s tech, thankfully, allowed them the same entrance that the survey scout drones had been using to scan the Sphere in the previous weeks, each Cooperative and Starfleet officer helping the other inside to reach a more stable, less-space-defiled plane of the derelict starship. Once the group reached this milestone with stable walls and a slightly audible environment, the company began the sub-operation of planting the “OS Overdrive” Cooperative devices that filled their suits' satchels. Local servers no bigger than the palm of a hand, the devices were designed to implant and embed themselves directly within the Sphere’s overall construction and base-level hivemind construction, making it easier for Cooperative technology to render the Sphere as a less hostile environment to both xB and non-xB lifeforms. The idea was to plant as many as possible units leading up to the Queencell to extend data core nullification from the inside out (like the radial measurement of a circle), each OS Overdrive placed washing out the eerie green of Borg Collective influence around it, and replacing that green with the ambient white-blue light of Cooperative UI.

As the company made their way deeper into the Sphere, evidence of the wreckage grew less and less, the weight of the Sphere’s artificial gravity anchoring each new step. Instead of seeing dead, mangled drones, _dormant_ drones now littered the sides of the hallways, Hugh noticing how the Starfleet personnel’s phaser flashlights lingered on their sleeping faces a little longer than Reclamation members did. While Starfleet personnel gripped their Type 3 Phaser Rifles, all xBs had their "Stun Batons" at the ready; a standard-issue Cooperative defense and uniquely developed by the pacifist culture, the Baton was a physical embodiment of the vow that xBs tried to not use firearms, and keep peace whenever possible. The highest damage a Stun Baton was capable of giving out was in equivalence to an average Starfleet phaser, its "gimmick" being the Batons' electrical signal currents were especially adept at disrupting Borg Collective technology (be it drone, weapon, or structure). For the drones tucked away in their Regeneration Alcoves, each analysis from both Hugh’s EV suit helmet and his augmentation UI confirmed that they all were just deeply dormant, rather than dead or frozen- commanded into this void of a stasis before the Sphere entered through the wormhole. 

“Are we breathable?” Lieutenant Ha’arshov asked.

“Yes, but barely for Reclaimed and other humanoids,” Junction Five noted as she slapped another OS override onto a wall’s paneling. “Spheres when under emergency duress like this are kept at minimal life support for anyone other than the Unreclaimed. It is inadvisable to remove your helmets in any capacity until we have full control of life support.”  
“At least we can _hear_ environmentals and it’s not a _complete_ vacuum,” Geordi commented, continuing his pace and the phaser at the ready. “Company, are we all getting readings of small energy pockets on the path up ahead?”  
“Prognosis of this section would theorize that this is a Regeneration Alcove chamber for the maintenance drones in this wing of the Sphere,” Crosis commented.   
“This is confirmed, Director Second,” Vorik stated, “these look like the scan reviews we performed before departing _Solstice,_ but one of them seems to be fluctuating irregularly.”   
“Thank you, Commander Vorik. Junction V’evik," Hugh called, "advance to confirm it is not faulty cybernetic interference that could affect our OS Overrides.”  
“Yes, Director.”  
“Ensign Smith, tail Junction V'evik- keep a cover of no greater than six meters.”  
“Commander La Forge, all company,” Hugh stated, holding up his fist to halt the crowd as V’evik and the Ensign scurried forward, “take the moment to recount our deployed Overrides’s statuses so far. We’re over two thirds of the way to the Queencell- no use in us running short now.”  
“Agreed- all company, hold,” Geordi instructed, “and let’s review our steps.”

The sounds of Phaser Rifles lowering and Reclamation Stun Batons powering off as the group took the moment to recoup, Hugh looking about as he noticed Geordi slinking closer to him.

“It’s… unfortunate those drones couldn’t be counted among the other 2,963,” Geordi offered. “I’m sorry you all have to see them like that. I'd like to believe they deserved a chance, too.” 

“I’m just sorry they had to endure a war they did not ask for, Commander. ...We will gather them,” Hugh said as a weight filled his chest. “Once we gain environmental control and begin cleanup, we will gather them and honor their deaths as best we can.”

“xB funerals,” Geordi mused, his tone cautious but laced with hope, “what are those like? Very meaningful ceremonies per individual, I imagine...” 

Even under the helmet, Hugh grinned some at Geordi’s question, happy to lighten the burden of the mission at hand with kindness rather than constant dread.

“They are different based upon the xB’s former culture and varying willingness to integrate it,” Hugh started, “but in recent years, common threads have begun to form on Ohniaka III.”  
“Tell him about the fixtures,” Crosis pried.  
“Don’t spoil it, Director Second. But, Commander, for example- say if there was an augmentation the individual was most proud of or well known for in life. The piece is--”

“AAAAHH--!”

_V’evik-_

Hugh bolted as his hand squeezed his Stun Baton and heart lept into his throat, instinctual visual UI at the ready to protect himself and anyone else from any organically-unseen dangers. Only when the grip of fear for V’evik’s safety began to unclench did Hugh realize that the rest of the group was rushing to his backup, the sounds of Phaser Rifles warming to stun a particularly poignant sound as he motioned the team with a backhand to stay behind him. But just as suddenly as it had broken the silence, V’evik’s scream became more of a shudder over the EV suit intercom, turning more into panicked gasps, and another raspy, crackling voice erupted over the Vulcan xB’s horror. 

_“State this unit’s designation!”_ the voice begged. “ _State this unit’s designation!”_

 _“_ V’evik--!”

And as Hugh turned the corner to meet the sight, the Director’s heart fell from his throat and into the pit of his gut. 

“I cannot--” V’evik pleaded, “I-I cannot tell you it, I-!”

A maintenance drone had pinned the Vulcan Junction against the wall and Ensign Smith had fallen backwards with his Phaser Rifle smacked out of hand, the full force of the drone’s weight leaning hard against V’evik thanks to a very serious leg injury. While the drone’s nanoprobe tubes _were_ deployed and were _horrifyingly_ close to V’evik’s body as the drone gripped their EV suit, Hugh could tell that if this drone didn’t have the energy to heal from a Regeneration Alcove’s biochip restoration, then they _certainly_ wouldn’t be able to assimilate V’evik, much less be able to assimilate _anyone_ thanks to the Sphere’s severance from the Collective. At the sight of Hugh and the rest of the group arriving, the drone initially recoiled from the extra light, but the drone immediately lunged for the closest member of the party, the Director, pinning Hugh down with a hard thud.

“State this unit’s designation!”

“Hold fire everyone,” Hugh begged, one hand smushed between him and the drone, the other an open palm towards the Cooperative and Starfleet, “hold your fire, hold…” 

“State this unit’s designation!”

_And so the first Reclamation began._

“Are you able to state _your_ designation,” Hugh asked the drone, his eyes steady and determined with his voice pleadingly gentle.

“State this unit’s designation!”

“Are _you_ able to state _your_ designation?”

“Sta--” 

The drone stopped in their panic.

“This unit, we… we do not know if we are able to state our designation,” the drone shuddered. “It has been so long since… since others have confirmed it; this unit has not had confirmation! And we have not confirmed _other_ designations! State this unit's de--”

“Are there no other voices with you?”

“N... no--” 

Hugh put his hand on his chest, “Do you acknowledge _this_ voice-”

The drone puzzled over this in their panic, “We… this is, not,” they paused, “this voice is… _your_ voice is not within-- it is not within us _\--_ ”

“No,” Hugh affirmed, “you are correct. It is not.”

The drone paused, Hugh thankful to notice their breathing slowing and their mind engaging with something other than a feedback loop. 

“...State your designation,” the drone asked.

“Hugh.”

“This is not a registered Borg identification.”

“It is not,” Hugh confirmed. “It was one _this_ voice, a voice outside of the Collective, chose.”

The drone puzzled again. 

“Outside… you do not know us? Are you not us?”

“No,” Hugh confirmed, “though _I_ was, once.”

The “I drop” was, by far, one of the most revered verbal occasions for xBs to experience in any Reclamation period of their lives. In interacting with newly-severed xBs, the element of the word “ _I”_ incorporated into language had to be chosen very carefully, deliberately, and respectfully, as to not overwhelm the xB and send them into an existential flurry and possible mental stress. Even the xB relays guarding the group: Five, Crosis, V’evik (currently being calmed from hands on their shoulders from Crosis and Five) all stood a little more at attention, tossing each other glances in the moment’s weight they knew the Director had laid out.

“‘I’ is… separate,” the drone put together, “than this unit…”

“Yes,” Hugh pressed. “This-” he patted his chest again, “is Hugh. _I_ am Hugh- it is my designation, it is my name that I chose. But yours,” Hugh led on, “can you tell me your designation?”

The drone fought through anxiety-riddled thoughts.

“H-how can this unit tell if its designation is accurate... when it has not been affirmed by other voices for so long?”

This, admittedly, was unusual for drones to question their own designations so much. Normally severed drones were more than enthused to repeat it over and over, so Hugh surmised that they were dealing with one or two scenarios: due to the wormhole, there may have been temporal shifts with the Sphere’s unmooring in time, residually affecting the drones’ sense _of_ time… or, perhaps, this drone was especially lonely these past few weeks, as time takes inevitably its unique toll on people (even if this poor drone did not realize they were actually a "people” yet).

“What do you _remember_ it to be? Can you tell me, Hugh," he placed his hand on his own chest again, "the last designation you remember?”

The drone was silent again.

“Third…”

Hugh swallowed, mentally bracing himself.

> _[It could be any number]  
> _ _[Stop projecting]_

“Third... of Eight. Third of Eight. ...That was this unit’s designation.” 

And Hugh smiled.

“It is... good to meet you, Third of Eight,” the Director assured, looking back at the drone’s bloodied, crumpled leg. “Can you stand?” 

“This unit’s lower extremity is damaged,” Third of Eight told the group. “We were regenerating in this Alcove to attempt to recover from the crash, but were unable to do so due to an outside obtrusion in the extremity.”

Hugh couldn’t put this drone’s life more in danger than they already were.   
So, licking his lips and shutting his jaw tight, he looked back to the group and decided they’d be safer somewhere else. 

“Alright,” he assured them. “Third of Eight… I, Hugh, ask you to comply. I will send you somewhere to be treated by others to repair your lower extremity.”

The drone pondered, then nodded to Hugh. 

“We will go.” 

“Thank you. Even if I am not there, there are many others who will be there for you.”

“How many?” 

Hugh’s grin returned some. “Enough to care for you, Third of Eight.” He slapped his Cooperation badge. “Director Hugh to Tactical Cube _Theta_ , Reclamation Medbay.”

_“Yes, Director.”_

“Prepare to receive one engineering drone; species scan indicates Wysanti, lower left leg broken with Regeneration Alcove shrapnel embedded into augmentation and organic material, drone beginning mental assessment of singularity. They will require immediate medical attention, as well as regenerative therapy and biochip energy conversion intake.” 

_“Understood, Director- the Reclamation Medbay is on immediate standby. I will inform Transporter Bay 2 to lock onto the new badge signal in exactly 30 seconds.”_

“Cooperation badge is affixed,” Hugh affirmed, taking the spare emblem from his suit’s utility pack and placing it on their chest. 

“Those voices,” Third managed, “they are separate from you, too? Are those the ‘others’ you spoke of?”

“Yes.” 

“How many other voices are there?”

Hugh allowed himself to grin. “Many. Many, many others. Enough so that you will not be alone anymore, Third of Eight.” 

“...If this unit is just one, this unit would be... 'Third,'” they put together, “but the Eight are no longer within proximity of Third. Does that make this unit… Third? Is this it?”

“If that’s what you want, Third of Eight,” Hugh assured him. “Make it whate--”

 _“Director Hugh, Transporter Bay from_ Theta _\- standing by to transport.”_

“...whatever you would like it to be. Ready for transport, _Theta_.”

And the drone, while waffling between rattled and a stoic sense peace, was bathed in the bright shimmering light of an energy signature, the only things left behind being the crumpled remnants of his leg and the blood spattered from his injury. Hugh’s chest heaved as he sighed in relief, struggling some to get up- a rush pulled him back up onto his feet, one hand definitely Crosis’ and other foreign, unsure of wh-- _it was Geordi-_

“Come on you, up--” Crosis urged in support.  
“2,962 left to go, if we’re not counting the Queen,” Geordi offered. “Nice job, Hugh.”

“Director--” V’evik requested, their voice still strained but composure mostly regained. “Thank you. I apologize for my inability to de-escalate the situation and accommodate the drone’s mental needs.”

“Do not apologize, Junction V’evik,” Hugh assured, taking a deep breath. “You were _very_ suddenly surprised, thrown off typical confrontation protocol- I wonder if I would have done the same if I were in your position. We’re just glad you’re safe.” 

“Yeah, I think that would’ve thrown anyone off,” Geordi assured. “Ensign Smith, report?”  
“Y-yes, Commander,” Smith managed. “I- the drone, they knocked me back, it was--”  
“They took us by surprise,” V’evik covered. “I simply pried into an alcove I couldn’t see too well into to try and pinpoint the location of the anomaly. ...and we found it.” 

“Use your EV suit’s extra pilot light next time,” Hugh told him, “but I am glad that you both are not only safe, but unharmed.”  
V’evik nodded uncharacteristically fast. “Me too.”

“Director, Commander-” Crosis noticed. “We must keep instigating the OS overrides if we want to make it to the Queencell before any previous units enter standby.”

“Good point. Let’s keep moving, everyone,” Commander La Forge agreed, “Lieutenant Ha’arshov, take up the rear again- let’s keep the OS Override Plants at top priority.”

“All Relays, pair up with Ensign disbursal to continue equal efforts of OS Overrides at proper locations. All Junctions, to the front with me,” Hugh declared. 

“Yes sirs.”

The next while proceeded rather uneventfully, seeming as if Third of Eight had been one maintenance drone just "unlucky" enough to have not made it back to their alcove before the Sphere's unimatrix collapse. One minute and fifty seven seconds later the encounter with Third, as the company proceeded down a new corridor and OS Overdrive disbursal carried on as usual, a sudden feeling that could only be described as a ‘surge’ ripped through the entire Sphere. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, the green-tinged surroundings growing darker as the central core of the sphere collected the light that had left around them to display _something._ While Hugh knew internal Borg UIs displayed system-wide status reports at their central, cavernous cores, this one was less of a report, and more of an ‘announcement,’ the collection of green glowing brighter with each passing second.

“Director Hugh,” Geordi asked, “What is that?”

It was a new ship-wide sequence announcement intended for drone-wide broadcast.   
A timer in Borg script flashed in repetition, changing its alphabet as fast as cortical nodes could track.   
A booming, bass-rumbling alarm ripped in timed count with the flashing script.

There was only one unit on _any_ Borg starship that could start that sequence. 

And every xB in the company stopped as the color drained from Hugh’s face.

“ _No_ \--”

Relay Two of Ten stepped back from the path's railing, “D-director--”

“ _Director Hugh, Ops Primary Junction Twelve, Tactical Cube Theta!”_ an intercom suddenly buzzed out, rivaling the alarmed requests from the _Solstice_ station on the channel, “ _we’re reading a_ massive _influx of energy from within the Sphere gathering to a single location- what’s going on, is this--!?”_

 _“_ No, no, _no,_ she’s started it, how did she--?!” Hugh clamored; then, regaining his mental footing, explained, “The internal matrix is collapsed, the Queen is not able to reactivate the Sphere’s internal network- but somehow, s-she's started this Sphere’s self-destruct sequence.”

Hugh felt the combined weight of the Starfleet personnel sink into and below their feet.

Geordi finally picked his jaw up off the floor. “How much time do we have?!”

“Five minutes-” Hugh managed, “physically, there’s no possible way to cut it shorter, so we are at least guaranteed that much time--”  
“And how much farther to the Queencell?”  
“Two minutes, two seconds at our current pace--” Vorik recounted, “possibly faster--”

“It must have been the new transporter signal,” Five concluded by her own deduction, “when Third was beamed out. Perhaps with a new-- energy reading, i-it may have sparked an instinctual Queencell relay to indicate an intruder, the Starfleet drones didn’t activate it, after all--” 

“Can we stop it?” Geordi pleaded. 

The crowd was silent as Hugh could practically feel the xBs’ minds try to formulate something, anything--

“...I can,” Junction five declared, “I and Junction V’evik can. I can disengage the terminals if Junction V’evik can undo whatever cybernetic interface the Queen has come into contact with, while the Director deactivates the Queencell and retrieves the data core- but we must go, go and keep placing the OS Overrides, now--!”

They could do it.  
But they had to get there first.

“They speak the truth, Commander La Forge,” Hugh assured him, "we can shut down this sequence."

Geordi looked to them, wanting an answer of how the Queen could have done this. “How did she--”

“Commander La Forge, with all due respect--” V’evik begged, Hugh looking back to the xB with empathy in the shaken Vulcan’s eyes. “If we are to save lives and now _preserve_ the ones both within and _around_ this Sphere, we must go.”

“We understand if all present Starfleet personnel would rather emergency beam-out,” Hugh offered Geordi in a sudden flurry of worry, “we do not want you to--”

“Director Hugh,” Geordi stated firmly, “I, nor _anyone else here_ who wears a Starfleet badge, will not leave you or this group. Nobody gets left behind, this _company_ does not get left behind, I will _not--”_

Geordi, seemingly, cut himself off, unable to finish that sentence as Hugh was spearing a hole into the man with his own stare.

> _[Suddenly, Picard was there again]  
> _ _[As were his own words]_   
> _[‘I will not’]_

“The only place _we’re_ all going,” Geordi resumed, readying his Phaser and beginning to tromp forward, “is to that Queencell. Now let’s move- all Starfleet personnel, keep affixing those OS Overdrives and do _not_ stop! Follow any and all dictations of xB Reclamation officers; is that understood!”

A cacophony of “Yes sir!”’s filled the hallway as Junction Five and V’evik led the way forward, Hugh falling into line with his baton at Geordi’s side. Without missing a beat, the formation picked up at a trotting pace, the clacks and activation trills of OS Overdrive modules clicking to life as the group rushed the corridor deeper into the Sphere.

“ _Commander La Forge!”_ The _Solstice_ Ops team barked, “ _status, please!_ ”

“Refer to Tactical Cube Ops _Theta_ and _Iota_ for correspondence debriefing on the situation at hand, please and thank you! Engage emergency shielding at max output capacity for any and all _Solstice_ personnel and recall any currently deployed ships immediately-” 

_“Admirals Clancy and Janeway want answers!”_

_“_ Give us two minutes, put them on hold- something!”

 _“I can’t exactly put_ two admirals _on hold, Commander!”_

“Oh, yes you will- by my order, or let them talk to the Cooperation! Commander La Forge over and out!”

“Private channel to Commander Geordi La Forge,” Hugh requested his EV suit OS. When the channel blipped to life after the request was received, Hugh’s voice was weaker than he would’ve liked it to be, “Geordi--”

“I’m not leaving you,” Geordi murmured back. “Don’t ever think that we, that _I’d_ leave you when it got too hot, Hugh- I’ve faced my share of supposed self-destruct sequences before.”

“Forgive me,” Hugh asked, smacking a freshly pulled overdrive from the EV suit satchel, “I--”

And despite the fog on the EV suit’s faceplate from Geordi’s increased pace, Hugh managed to notice a smirk and hear the barest hint of a chuckle. 

“Forgiveness _denied.”_

And that same feeling of fire from before seemed to rekindle from not only Hugh’s shoulder, but felt it spread over his whole body, Hugh pulling his attention back towards the corridor as the group bobbed and weaved through the internal, hellish maze of the Sphere.

After what seemed like the longest, paradoxically quickest two minutes in Hugh's life, the group’s OS Override satchels were depleted and a few damaged drones had to be passed in order to make it to the Queencell, resolving that they would return for the injured once the Sphere _itself_ was salvaged. The door was, predictably, sealed both physically and by force field shielding, the Cooperation’s Stun Baton armaments finally seeing their day of use. As the instrument known as an Earthen ‘gong’ would be sounded, all present xBs struck at the Collective wall with all their might, the very core of the nanoprobe-woven metal and sickly green shield stunned as they drove white-blue electrical currents into the Collective-fortified wall. Once their weapons were immediately exhausted and the Sphere's wall shielding disrupted, they stood back as Starfleet officers fired Phaser Rifles continuously at the disrupted, increasingly superheated structure, the metal itself finally melting and giving way to a hole cut in the chamber’s side. 

And with two minutes, twenty six seconds left on the EV Suit’s clocks before Sphere self-destruct, a circular piece of sliced-open wall fell inside the Queencell, and the sight before the company was one no xB, no Starfleet officer, could say they had ever seen- collectively, or individually. 

Behind the Queencell control hub, freshly-smashed glass from a Queen’s rejuvenation littered the chamber's floor, Borg stasis nanoprobe fluid still leaking where it had obviously been a waterfall not minutes beforehand. A crimson-black-green mixture of a smear led up to the control hub, directly highlighting the fumbling "path" of the Queen herself; as just a mere head and shoulders splayed over the console, cybernetic tendrils from her exposed spine and augmentation "borders" were utilized as horrid, makeshift arms that possibly drug her towards the console, her forehead smeared with blood dribbling out of a fresh, circular wound encrusted with glass. The blood contoured a wicked smile that spread across her ghastly white face, the holo-UI echoing its larger countdown counterpart in the Sphere's internal chasm of a chamber. The Queen stared directly at Hugh with that smile, directly _into_ him, and Hugh knew in that moment that she knew _everything_ , _everything_ about _every xB_ pre-severance, and she wielded that traumatic, gut-wrenching reality like a scepter made of malice, hatred, and bitterness. 

“Welcome home,” she spat in a purring, disgusting smile, “‘ _Cooperation.’”_


	4. the aeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding the Queen, exploring the Sphere?  
> Yeah, so something may have went wrong.
> 
> You may topple a Queen's throne, but don't expect there to not be any dust kicked up as a result. Make sure that you, Commander La Forge, offer what you can in the way of firepower, a shoulder to lean on when those close to you so desperately need it, or simply agreeing on a post-shift dinner time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geordi time :) || okay i swear we're done with action for a while after this chapter || content warning for some descriptions of gore and mental health crisis situation || alternate title "bro it's ok ur gonna be ok bro" || like comment and subscribe for more || go read "there's a sky where we belong" by transpapyrus, love that fic and the guy writing it and RT if you remember the five (5) whole fics in the laborg AO3 tag https://rb.gy/t5qzxn || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

_Twenty five._

It took Commander Geordi La Forge three seconds to gather himself and take in the sight of the desperate, vengeful Borg Queen sprawled on her console. 

_Twenty four._

Three seconds they could have used to add onto their countdown timers of two minutes, twenty four seconds before the Sphere they were onboard blew to smithereens.

_Twenty three._

But it gave him, at least, three seconds to try and at least _begin_ processing the weight of the scene, and what it could mean to the xBs who were confronting the face of their oppressor. 

“Why,” Hugh demanded the Queen. 

_Twenty two._

“Why?” he asked again. “You couldn’t live without knowing _you_ controlled them? Is that it? _You_ couldn’t have them, the _Collective_ couldn’t have them, so instead you sentence all these drones to death?!”

_Twenty._

“Is it better than living a lie?!” she laughed back, the shortest shoulder tendrils trying to keep her head gripped to the Queencell console. “Better than seamless unity, compared to this… _pathetic_ excuse,” she spat angrily, “of patchwork fools you _lord_ over? Our beautiful _perfection_ that your so-called ‘ _Cooperative’_ pales against?! You think you can sell us a _fake heaven, Third of Five?!_ ” 

“ _What is perfect about this,_ you despot?!” Crosis shouted angrily, the material of his EV Suit audibly tightening in grip against his baton.

“You will be coming with us,” Geordi tried to interject, “by our authority as Federation-Cooperation officers, you are _ordered_ to disengage this Sphere’s self-destruct sequence an--” 

And as a dying beast would thrash against its larger prey, one of the Queen’s tendrils that still anchored her to the tank smashed against its glass and tried to flail upwards, poised to come down on top of one of the xB Relays as her force field shimmered from activity.

Geordi released the safety lock on his Phaser Rifle. “Fire on stun!”

Relay Two barely fumbled out of the way before the tendril could fully slam against her, the xBs taking a speedy charge while the Queen was distracted with the approaching Starfleet officers firing at the force field. The weighted batons came down hard and against the green barrier, crackling like lightning and sparking like a welder’s torch. Before the Queen had a chance to gloat about her ‘advanced Borg shielding’ or whatever it’d be, the Cooperation weapon’s hidden strength made itself known, the xB’s wedging their Batons in even further and sending “cracks” through the field’s overall stability.

“What--!?” 

_Fifteen._

While the circumstances were dire, the scientist in Geordi was thrilled to be seeing the xBs’ prowess on display in the form of these Stun Batons he’d read about in pre- _Solstice_ debriefings. Co-opting signal-adaptive Borg technology, the physical makeup of Stun Batons were inlaid with impressive nanofibers: a material that resembled the look of 21st century carbon fiber, and allowed xBs to pry through almost all force fields when in physical contact. Obviously, the Borg would have no knowledge of this “technological specialty,” rendering the Queen’s shields unable to adapt to the batons on the fly, Junction Five the first to “break” the wall and wedge open a hole where she initially struck. Her baton’s signal met V’evik’s disruption, then Crosis’, each xB’s baton “crack” signal connecting… until the force field itself shattered, leaving the Queen exposed and her cards laid bare as Hugh rushed forward with the containment field generator.

“Director!”

The “NO!” she screamed as Hugh stuck it straight onto the Queen's bloodied forehead would not be easily forgotten.

And before another one of her angered, flailing “limbs” could pierce Hugh and the xBs in retaliation as they backed up, Geordi fired the stun shot that knocked her out cold through the torn force field’s hole, the Queen going limp against the console and tendrils clattering to the floor.

“Commander La Forge to _Solstice,”_ Geordi called, slapping his badge and activating the generator, “Special Containment Chamber 1, Queen secure; I repeat; Queen secure! Transport now!” 

“Solstice _Special Containment Chamber 1; request received! Emergency station shielding lowering to receive Borg Queen; energizing in five seconds!”_

And the Queen, wrapped in a figurative ‘net’ of a containment field, was caught and beamed out of the Queencell, now one less burden the group had to deal with. 

She was gone. 

The original mission, at least, had been completed, and the company allowed themselves shuddering sighs and a small victory’s satisfaction to dispel the Queen’s haunting presence. 

But the relief never came. 

The console, the collection of energy, the bass-thrumming rumble of the alarm outside the Queencell- it was all still going, and Geordi’s Starfleet officers were beginning to pick up on what he wondered if the xBs had fearfully suspected all along.

_Ten._

“Director, Commander- is that simply console feedback?” Vorik tried to ask cooly. “Is the countdown still live, even though she has left the Sphere?”

“She’s left the command in place,” Hugh admitted, wiping the blood on his hand on the back of the console. “We’ll have to--”

A crumpling against the wall drew the party’s attention to Relay Two of Ten, limping on a leg where the Queen’s initial tendril had struck.

“Director, I’m sorry, I can’t- stand, augh--” 

Geordi was closest to her, helping Two adjust against the wall to prop her leg up. Her EV Suit wasn’t torn and there were no scans or sights of nanoprobes, but there was a noticeable divot in her lower leg- most likely a fracture, but would have been much more serious if she were not an xB. Hugh rushed to both her and Geordi while a noticeably worried Five for Two, V’evik, and Crosis tended to the control console, Vorik directing the Starfleet company to stand guard. 

“Two,” Hugh asked, “Two, are you-”

“I’m okay,” she breathed, “I’m okay, she just- smacked my leg, agh--”

“Sit, sit,” Geordi urged, nodding at Hugh to go join the others at the console, “relax, she’s gone. Glad you’re okay. Smith,” he called, “medkit--”

She smiled despite the pain, wincing some as her jawline augment accentuated the lines of a grin and she traded a look with Five. “Thank you, Sirs.” 

The company’s EV Suit UI flashed a _ <TWO MINUTES UNTIL SPHERE SELF DESTRUCT> _ warning, as if they didn’t need _another_ reminder.

“There: sphere-wide Life Support fully stabilized, at least,” Five declared, taking that grain of victory. “Helmets off if you want, everyone.” 

“I am thankful for more than just that,” V’evik sighed, the Vulcan xB’s hair tumbling out of their helmet and disengaging the EV suit’s gloves and bracers. Their cybernetic palm opened and closed, tracing along the Borg UI as Geordi left Two with Ensign Smith to join the group and offer what he could.

“Let’s get to work, then.”

The seconds ticked painfully on as all sorts of theories, hypotheses, and physical examinations were offered to regain Queencell controls and shut down the self-destruct sequence. Shucking out the warp core? Borg starships were not built like most humanoid species; one could not simply _eject_ subspace transwarp conduits without destroying the whole craft in the process. Transporting the Queen back to have her shut it off herself? Out of the question, she was already unconscious anyway; not even _mentioning_ if they could get her to do it in the first place. Writing a fake signature program, tearing apart the Queencell, even _firing_ on the console itself? No, nope, and “absolutely not,” their latest experiment involving Five trying to disguise a random dormant drone as an access key so they could then override the command, V’evik’s engaged hand on the console serving as a cybernetic ‘mimic’ to substitute for the Queen’s interface.

This, unfortunately, was not working either, as a red UI symbol kicked Five out of whatever programming she was steeped in, and a panel spit sparks of rebuttal from where V’evik was.

_ <ONE MINUTE, THIRTY SECONDS UNTIL SPHERE SELF-DESTRUCT> _

“Damn it!” Five hissed in frustration, V’evik pulling back their cybernetic hand and shaking it as if stung. “I can _see_ the access point, but since the submatrix is collapsed, it needs to think it’s the _Queen_ , and it’s not letting me make it think one of the dormant drones _is_!”

“And I cannot access it on a physical level-” V’evik told, examining and flexing their hand, “the Queen has activated some sort of security algorithm to prevent all outside attempts at override.”

Geordi’s brow creased in worry. “Is there _anything_ else,” the Commander pleaded, “ _anything_ we haven’t thought to try, Director; any… subroutines, Sphere resources, Cooperative or Federation tech, anything! There- has to be something, there’s n--”

“There _is_ something.”

Hugh held his stare forward. 

“Direct access to the Sphere,” he said quietly.

“Director, V’evik has alread--”

“ _No_ , Crosis,” Hugh interrupted as he shook his head. “ _Direct._ Access.” 

A hush fell over the xBs, the Director visibly swallowing as he looked up to the Queencell’s ceiling.

A ceiling littered with interface and transfer cables to…  
Cables to… to interface with the--  
Geordi’s eyes glanced at Hugh’s facial implants.

“ _Direct?”_

_Hugh, what were you planning?_

A cacophony of protests began to bubble from the xBs at Hugh’s side, the Director beginning to peel off his EV suit’s outer shell regardless.

“Director-”  
“No no no, you can’t-”  
“Director, please, reconsider--”

Geordi watched Crosis grab Hugh by his suit where his helmet once interlocked, “Hugh, don’t you _dare;_ we’ll figure _something_ out before you or _any_ one of us has to--”

“We don’t have the _time_ to figure anything else out, Crosis!” Hugh hollered back, his voice strained and eyes pleading. “I am _not_ about to let this Sphere with almost 3,000 lives be snuffed out and have everything we did be for _nothing_!”

“Hugh,” Geordi pleaded, hating how much his voice wavered in front of the company, “Hugh, will this-- negatively affect you in any way, could it--”

“It could _kill him,_ Commander,” Five told Geordi as she shook her head, “but we don’t know- there’s been… you must remember- this is the _first time_ the Cooperation has been able to step into an Unreclaimed Borg starship on this scale of an operation. We don’t know what this could do to him, interfacing with Borg technology post-severance; we, there’s--”

“--Never been a recorded instance of an xB _directly_ interfacing with a starship’s collapsed submatrix,” Hugh finished for her, disengaging his EV Suit’s gloves and tugging down the sleeve where his nanoprobe wrist ports lay dormant. “It would not be with any of the drones, at least- just the Sphere control’s itself. And there is... a first time for everything, after all-”

Geordi put his hand on Hugh’s shoulder, his heart suddenly conflated with the mission at hand, the need to preserve his and the others’ lives, Hugh’s _safety--_

His hand squeezed Hugh. 

“I won’t stop you,” Geordi told him with a strained voice. “Because I trust you. ...But make sure you come back, alright? Come back. Find something to hold onto while you’re in there, Hugh.”

_There he went, staring at him again like that--_

Hugh swallowed. “You,” he told him. “You, if you will allow me. You helped bring me into the world, Geordi… I would be thankful if you helped keep me _anchored_ to it.”

A lump formed in Commander La Forge’s throat. 

“I’d be honored, Director.” 

_ <60 SECONDS UNTIL SPHERE SELF-DESTRUCT> _

“Whatever may happen,” Hugh told them, flinching as his wrist’s nanoprobe tubes began transmitting his ID for the interface cables, “record it. Observe it, learn from it for whoever may come next, _if_ anyone needs to do this.”

“Do you think the Sphere’s inherent AI is still active despite the submatrix collapse, Director?” V’evik asked quietly.

“I do not know,” Hugh managed, his unconnected hand sending a holo-UI prompt upwards for confirmation. “And perhaps that’s what unsettles me the most.” 

Once the console’s UI command was up and out of sight, a loud -*KH-CHNK*- shifted and groaned from the ceiling, the company surprised at just how _fast_ the interface cables were making their way towards Hugh. As the first cable successfully made touch contact, the cables conglomerated en masse towards him and began to run along the Director’s EV Suit undershirt, his face, looking for access ports and dipping under the fabric as Hugh’s hands instinctively pawed for Crosis and Geordi at his side-

“I-I--"  
Geordi could hardly blame Hugh for any falters in his voice.  
"Hold me, please-” 

And the two held his arms and hands, bracing for whatever may come.

The first sickening shunt plugged itself into the back of Hugh’s neck, the Director spasming and gasping as Geordi and Crosis held his weight as Hugh lost his balance. More, more, more of the cables interlocked with his spine, gut-wrenching sounds of metal meeting flesh, the company unable to form coherent words as they watched Hugh’s skin turn slightly greyer, Geordi holding on tighter in response Hugh’s weakening grip. The Director’s eyes clouded over until they were pitch black, his open mouth quivering shut; just as quickly as the black had spilled in, so to followed glowing, green squares that filled where his irises would be, Hugh’s posture straightening and his face turning completely neutral.

It was then, Geordi noticed, Hugh’s eyes were pre-emptively wet; as if he were about to weep, but suddenly stopped by a higher force or power. 

_Oh, Hugh-_

And Hugh, standing independently, calmly took his arms from Crosis and Geordi’s grips and folded his hands, speaking with all the power, might, and reverb in an ethereal voice Geordi nor anyone else would soon forget. 

**“We are Sphere 4381.”**

Despite the innate… fear? Safety? Concern for Hugh’s current state, Geordi caught something.

“W-wait, ‘Sphere?’” Geordi managed, the combination of the two examining Hugh’s hand by turning and flexing it. “Isn’t… wouldn’t he say ‘‘we are Borg,’ not--” 

“It is _all_ connected, Commander La Forge,” Five shakily told him. “Everything. The Collective’s starships are _just_ as sapient on a basic artificial intelligence level as any dormant or disconnected drone is.” 

Vorik continued Geordi’s train of thought. “And if the submatrix has collapsed and there no interconnected drones to reactivate, then--”

“It’s the entire ship he’s interfaced with,” Geordi concluded. “Could… could he _access_ those drones?”

Crosis swallowed.  
“Let us hope he does _not_.”

Hugh (the Sphere?), as if gathering his mental bearings, looked to Geordi.

 **“Queen 127 has initiated the self-destruct sequence of this Sphere.”**

Geordi looked between the other xBs, as if seeking permission to communicate.

Almost all of them nodded, waving their hands at him as if to "keep going" and keep that channel open.

“...Yes, Sphere 4381.” 

**“Third o--”**

Hugh’s mouth shut and his expression, finally, changed ever so slightly, as if pondering on or ceasing a train of thought.

 _Come on, Hugh._

**“...Relay informant ‘Hugh’ has divulged to this unit that this action was not necessary, and in fact damaging for this unit’s un-evacuated Collective hosting and immediate surroundings.”**

_Attaboy._

“Yes, correct,” Geordi affirmed in a relieved sigh, “there’s no danger to you in any sort of way- no cause for you whatsoever for you to self-destruct.”

The Hugh… Sphere… interface paused, stoic and unchanging in expression.

 _The timer ticked to twenty seconds.  
_ _Nineteen.  
_ _Eighteen._

Hugh’s face twitched some. 

And suddenly, the same ‘surge’ that had first heralded the sequence’s beginning was felt again as it rocked through the Sphere, the collected light outside of the carved-open Queencell “door” suddenly dissipating.

 **“The self-destruct sequence has been deactivated.”**

Geordi could’ve fallen over right there in relief; the xBs sighed, some covered their mouths, Lieutenant Ha’arshov dry gasped and even Vorik looked down with a less-creased brow...

“Thank you.” 

**“Due to Queen 127’s violation of internal Borg protocol 56327.12, this deems Queen 127 incapable of directing further logical decisions for this unit’s Collective.”**

Geordi nodded along with the amalgamation. “Y-yes. Alright, good.”

Hugh -the two, rather?- paused again, Geordi and the company watching Hugh intently as he turned his gaze aside. It seemed as if a silent conversation was taking place, knowing Hugh was probably doing his damndest to explain the situation to the consciousness literally woven through a ship they were intending to establish a research base in. Hugh’s mind then, technically, was everywhere- as vast as the Sphere itself, knowing every nook and cranny, exactly how many Regeneration Alcoves were on board- and even, possibly, how on earth they could have survived their trip through the wormhole. 

**“Relay informant ‘Hugh’ has disseminated your mission and desired purpose for establishing a presence within this Unit.”**

Geordi nodded along with the amalgamation. “Yes,” he asked. “Do you… accept? Would you be willing to host the Cooperative and the Federation for this mission?”

**“We will comply. So long as the preservation of this Unit is guaranteed and its Collective is salvaged, your intentions and residence will be permitted. Due to Collective severance, your cultural and technological specialties will not be assimilated for further study. This Unit…”**

The Sphere’s ‘conscience’ seemed to ponder itself again, Hugh’s eyelids flickering as the two concentrated, his brow furrowed and nodding to no one in the group. God, what on earth was Hugh even having to go through in there-

**“...I...”**

Geordi could hear the xB company mumbling between themselves.

**“I will assist. Your ‘OS Overdrives’ may be incorporated for further study and integration into I’s- m-y’s-- I’s-- t-t-this Unit’s interface. Repairs to this hull must be conducted.”**

The auditory mechanical stuttering deeply unnerved Geordi and brought back memories of his own time interfaced with the _Enterprise-D's Raman_ probe, but he kept as straight a face as possible for the present company. “Of course, and we have resources allocated to assist with patching your hull's--”

Hugh, suddenly, walked forward, most personnel jumping in surprise as he made his way towards and outside the Queencell’ “door,” past the corner, and went to face the immense cavern over the balcony. The tendrils that pierced Hugh’s augmentations from the sphere neither tightened nor sagged at any point- elegantly, the multitude flowed behind him like the specter of a cape, Geordi and Crosis following and staying at Hugh’s side as “the two” surveyed the Sphere’s interior. The conscious amalgamation folded Hugh’s hands, standing just as politely as Hugh so often did… and the ship’s body heaved into a strange, haunting half-life. 

Billions, Geordi could assume trillions of nanoprobes assisted in sliding Sphere 4381’s outward shielding to form another hull plate, the far-distant booms echoing as each piece slid into place. Both regenerating and rearranging the metal, the Sphere’s conscious was correct about the OS Overdrives; the light-blue flickered, went green for a moment, then eventually green cooled into Cooperative UI color, washing itself in brush-like strokes to the rest of the Sphere’s inner chambers. 

“Crosis, Five-- _any_ Reclamation Project personnel: did… did any of you expect this to happen?” Geordi said quietly. 

“No, Commander,” Five said, awe plainly painted on her face. “No, we… we did not.”

“Truth be told, Mr. La Forge,” Crosis managed, “I don’t think any of us knew this was even _possible_.” 

And as they spoke, Hugh turned back to them, the colossal hull panels continuing to shift in the distance as Hugh spoke while returning inside the Queencell.

**“Relay informant ‘Hugh’ requests to ‘return’ and cease the current state of communication to this Unit. You shall find that you have access to disengage Queencell controls, as well as the control Data Core. However, I This Uu--nit I-- request leave m--y-y-y. Operating Sy-systems, and Memory Banks, intact. Queen 127 is now barred from access to-to my systems. But this Unit would--”**

Hugh’s brows furrowed, his face showing the most emotion it had since his initial interfacing. 

**“The- actions present-- able to- select. Declare option. Prefer. You-”**

A weight gripped Geordi upon the realization that Hugh, all alone, was most likely teaching the Sphere’s AI a new concept: something as basic, something as world-shattering and personally empowering, as the concept of a “ _choice._ ”

Just like _he_ taught Hugh all those years ago.

So Geordi spoke candidly- a tired smile plain on his face and admiration filling his eyes for the xB’s mental fortitude.

“I… hope this isn’t rude since you have the reigns right now,” The Commander asked, “but if I mention something to the ‘Relay Informant’ _…_ you’re doing great, Hugh,” Geordi said quietly, his teeth flashing in a smile amidst the ship’s dim light. “Think I know what you’re doing in there, bud. And you’re doing really, really great.” 

The amalgamation’s face froze and his eyes widened, Crosis tossing Geordi a nod and an affirming grin from behind his Director.

And Hugh’s face settled again into neutrality.

 **“Thi-S-Sphere 4381 choose-s tto--** **_chooses,_ ** **to request a Federation hologenerator be brought within this Unit, so that my-yI-II- may integrate it into my Operating System. This will be utilized to better understand and assess interactions with both Federation and Cooperation staff during your operations onboard, as well as efficiently communicate through an interface that does not require the use of Relay Informant ‘Hugh’ in this manner, though his reference has been bountifully sufficient.”**

Oh, what- they were gonna be _deprogramming an entire Borg Sphere’s_ brain now, too!?

Geordi couldn’t help himself from trading glances between the group, which ranged everywhere between gobsmacked, shocked, amazed, stunned, and “Vulcan surprise” (which was by far the most monumental reaction here).

“I… of course,” Geordi promised. “Yes. It will take us about three days to get one here to you- the _Solstice_ station doesn’t have one, and I don’t think…” Geordi turned his eyes to Five who was shaking her head rapidly, “yeah, the Cooperation’s Tactical Cubes don’t have one either, so are you… alright waiting between then while we set up stations and equipment over the next 7200 hours or so to get one shipped out here?”

**“Sufficient.”**

Sphere 4381, using Hugh’s eyes, looked at the company one last time. 

The AI’s gaze stopped on Geordi again. 

**“You will find all the necessary access codes to enter docking bays, and bypass generated force field barriers in my Central Data Core. I shall wait for future collaboration. Disengaging from Relay Informant.”**

Geordi nodded, swallowing his nerves and face of diplomacy. “Thank you.” 

The cybernetic tendrils tightened and began to hiss in unclamped release, Hugh’s body spasming and falling as Geordi and Crosis, again, went to support him. His black and green vision began to fizzle back to the familiar brown and blue, and as the Director’s sight cleared, he coughed, sputtered, and gasped in regained control, hands mashing against his face alongside choked sobs. Geordi’s heart broke as those hands went to grasp and tug at his own hair, the Commander watching Crosis motion one hand of support to the top of his back. 

“Hugh,” Crosis tried, “Hugh, can you--”

**“ _NOT NOW!”_**

It was so loud that Hugh’s still-mechanically-evening voice echoed far into the Sphere’s cavern outside.

“N-not now,” Hugh asked quietly, “not now, just… j-just let me…”

Hugh’s chest heaved, pulling his hands from his hair to look at them- opening, closing, flexing… and just as he gathered the strength to look back up, the Director lowered his head again, miring in the immensity of what all transpired.

“We’re safe,” he managed, “and so is everyone else. That’s what matters.” 

“Director-” V’evik piped, Vorik turning an eyebrow to his fellow Vulcan.

Hugh’s shuddering slowed.   
And finally, though his composure was weak, Hugh pulled his leg forward to try and get up, Crosis and Geordi helping lift him just as they did after Third of Eight’s encounter not so long ago.   
Once standing, Hugh fiddled with his undershirt’s sleeves to pull them down over his nanoprobe augmentations, his hands still shaking and his forehead beading with sweat. 

“Director,” Crosis offered gently, “as Director Second, allow _us_ to begin stabilization procedures. You’ve done more than enough for now, Sir.” 

Crosis’ eyes met Geordi’s, a quick raise of his brow motioning over Hugh’s line of sight towards the Queencell door.  
Geordi nodded.

_Good second-in-command you’ve got here, Hugh._

“He’s right,” Geordi followed along, “he’s right. Come on, let’s-- head out there, fill in _Solstice, Theta, Iota-_ take a break…”

“Yes,” Hugh finally said, nodding absently, “yes, that sounds good. Thank you, everyone. You all performed admirably today. I, we’ll--”

“Come on,” Geordi urged, turning to guide Hugh by the shoulder towards their makeshift door. The Commander tossed a nod and grin of approval to the Starfleet and Cooperation personnel (who all gave concerned and assuring looks back), murmurs and comm channels filling the space of silence left behind. Once Geordi and Hugh made it out of the Queencell and out to the balcony, Geordi’s hand squeezed the other man’s shoulder tighter; at this, Hugh finally broke down, stumbling before swooping in for an embrace that Geordi instinctually snatched the xB into. The hug was a little clunky thanks to Geordi still in his EV Suit (sans helmet) and Hugh stripped down to his undershirt as the outer suiting dangled from his hips; but they made it work, Geordi careful to pay mind where his hands were so that he not trigger possible phantom sensations of cables for Hugh. He held the xB tight and Hugh held him back tighter- avoiding hard weeping only by sheer force of will and the need to be strong for Hugh in this present moment of crisis.

“God, you little--” Geordi sighed shakily with a sniff, “scared the hell out of me, you know that--”

“I’m sorry-” Hugh told, “I’m sorry, there was nothing else that could be done, and-”

His voice was so _panicked_ , just like when he first found him--

“Don’t be,” Geordi rebuttled. “We’re all alive because of you. Like I told you earlier- ‘you’re doing really really great,’ you remember that?” he offered in a quiet laugh. “It just… it didn’t hurt you in any way, did it--”  
“No,” Hugh said immediately, “no. And that’s almost the worst part of it. Rather just-- the ‘emptiness’ of what I saw, Geordi. There was nothing, and suddenly it was like... trying to- fan a speck of fire into the shape of a person that used _me_ as its fuel every time they learned something new, and-"   
Hugh paused. "You had a different experience than I did, explaining the concept of ‘I’ to me,” he tried to extrapolate. “You were… outside of me. Grounded me, _anchored_ me in something else, because it let me be my _self_ without another presence within me. With this, it was just… there was no division no 'other person' to explain it separate from your own process, there is--”

“'No one can look into a void without losing something,'” Geordi remembered, “'and no _void_ can look into a person without gaining something.'”

Hugh gave another hard sniff, Geordi relieved to feel the pressure from a smile forming against his chestplate. 

“You _have_ been doing your reading…”  
“‘Course- like I’m gonna skip the best parts of xB philosophy after I get the inside scoops?” Geordi tried to humor. “I’m so amazed by you, Hugh. I hope you know that.”  
“Look who’s talking,” the Director quipped back. 

And after a handful’s time of silence went by and Geordi let Hugh hug him for however long he needed, the xB began to release his weight, the Commander stepping back and looking over his dear friend. 

“You’re okay to head back?” Geordi asked.

“Yes,” Hugh confirmed. “Go back, update Starfleet Command and the Cooperation, write up our reports, get a chance to make sure both staff get everything ready, and that will _probably_ take the whole day. Sounds like the perfectly boring amount of administrative work to occupy myself with.”

“I agree,” the Commander huffed in relief. “And hey, at least: in some ways, the hardest part is over, Hugh.”

“Thankfully… and yet, some others are just starting. Twenty-three years,” Hugh sighed as he shook his head, picking up his EV Suit’s arms and shucking himself back onto his shoulders and through the sleeves. “Twenty-three years I have been separated from the Collective, and she _still_ knew my original designation.”

“Shows how vindictive they are, if anything.”  
“Mhm- and to think I get the ‘pleasure’ with _talking_ to her on a semi-regular basis.”   
“At least it’ll be cathartic?”  
“Uh-huh, just you wait,” Hugh grumbled, which earned a playful laugh from Geordi. “Cartharcism is just the beginning.” 

Hugh paused, then, looking back to Geordi with a tired grin. “Thank you, Geordi,” he said, the Commander’s chest aching from how sweetly he said that. “That was not- and, _is,_ not, the best of places.”  
“I could tell. I’m just happy I could be there for you, Hugh.”

The Commander and Director thinned their lips at one another until Geordi papped Hugh on the arm. “Come on,” he started, “let’s get back in there.”

* * *

_“_ _That was certainly one of the more_ stressful _five minute periods I’ve had in my life.”_

_“To their credit, their situation wasn't exactly something you can de-brief on the fly, Clancy. Though I will say, Gentlemen, it was definitely more wicked to keep the suspense up than any caffeine withdrawal headache I’ve ever had.”_

_“Despite the duress, we’re just glad to see you all safe, returned, and intact.”_

_“And be sure to give Deep Space 9 a call showing your appreciation to its Captain; we’re pulling a bit of a favor asking the station to relay us a starship-wide hologenerator this fast._

“Will do, Janeway,” Geordi assured, smirking at Hugh as he looked to him in the light of his office. “Both Director Hugh and I will put in calls later on today once, if I may speak for both parties involved, ‘collect our thoughts.’” 

“Agreed,” Hugh chimed. “To say it has been ‘tumultuous’ is putting it lightly and almost superficially.” 

_“You are commended, Director Hugh,”_ Clancy assured _, “for doing what you did today. Let it be known that Starfleet owes both you and the apparent selflessness of the Cooperation a debt of gratitude.”_

"To have let anything in an alternative scenario happen would have been reprehensible,” Hugh tried to assure. But he sat up a little straighter with pride in his posture, “thank you. The Federation is quite blessed to have the prowess and honor of someone like Commander Geordi La Forge utilizing such wonderful Starfleet officers.”

“ _Oh, and you have to sit right next to him and take that, Commander La Forge,”_ Admiral Janeway humored. 

“Mhm- he gets the up close and personal view of the blush, look at that,” Geordi pointed, which got Hugh laughing and even _Clancy_ smirking. “We’ll update you at about 2000 hours our time on how progress is going, and expect our reports soon.”

“ _Thank you gentlemen.”_

“Ah- one last thing before we end the call, Admirals,” Hugh piped, holding up a finger. “Regarding the Sphere’s AI. You will read about it in my report, but its presence was made curious to my consumption of Greek philosophy and mythology as it tried to come to terms with the concept of singularity. In my clarity, I was able to determine that it had taken a new designation for itself rather than a serial ID of 4381.”

“ _Oh?”_ Janeway piqued. Clancy leaned in some, clearly just as interested as Janeway continued, “ _Well I’ll be damned. What did they pick?”_

Hugh smiled, and part of Geordi wondered if it was because Hugh had failed to mention this before and was springing this fun little surprise on him now.

“‘Atlas.’” 

Both Admirals smirked. 

_“How fitting. We look forward to your reports, gentlemen: Clancy out.”_

_“Thank you both.”_

And the women fizzled off the screen, Geordi looking at Hugh standing beside him. The xB looked _much_ better now that he had a chance to come back from the Sphere, collect himself in his quarters, and change into something less restrictive, allowing a bit of last night’s formality to peak through. He stood with a confidence that was less for the Admirals and more for himself, looking golden and radiant in the _Solstice_ station’s horizon view of the sunset. _He was beautiful,_ Geordi thought in a flash, and Hugh seemed to notice the way a certain refreshed, in-uniform Geordi stared at him just now. 

“I ah,” Geordi cleared his throat. “Nice name drop there.”

“Thought it would be a nice little surprise,” Hugh shrugged with a bashful smirk. “Besides, I wanted to remember everything I felt upon discovering that name. I suppose that was… _one_ nice thing I gave to the void,” he mused, “the amazing ability to find _attachment_ to something for the first time.”

Geordi could only offer him a grin, walking with him to his Ready Room doors. “Get some rest, Hugh. I’ll join you for dinner once the shift ends.”  
“Sounds wonderful to me. I’ll be visiting Two of Ten in Sickbay before returning to write my report, though I’m informed she will be out in a couple of hours.”  
“Excellent. I had wanted to stop by Junction V’evik’s quarters, too; just to check in with them after their encounter.”   
“I wish you a pleasant visit, Commander La Forge.” 

The doorway wooshed open, and as Hugh was about to step out, he didn’t quite notice a mag-lev cart heading down the other side of the hallway. “Oh wait, wait--” Geordi’s arm went to instinctually stop him with a hand that flew to rest on his forearm as they both looked down the hall and, oh, _oh-_

For a second that stretched on just as long as the ones did entering the Queencell, Geordi’s eyes caught himself looking at where his hand was on Hugh’s arm- pulling it back immediately, but right away wanting to go back and hold it again as he had. The touch was both electric and fiery, magnetizing and compelling, Geordi’s able to feel the barest hint of skin’s firmness, of a surprising amount of muscle, and what were most likely beautiful, metal augmentation lines under the fabric of his uniform. He’d already seen him in so many uniforms, outfits, and ensembles before, and each one just as handsome as before; but to touch Hugh in such a way now, the way Hugh seemed to remain there-

“Uh--” Geordi could only stutter in his own disbelief and gobsmacked embarrassment. So he looked up.

And any traumatic memories of Hugh’s skin turning frighteningly gray from earlier were quickly substituted for the far more wonderful and delightful sight of Hugh, currently, turning quite pink in the face before Geordi’s eyes.

“I, ah--” Hugh stammered, “s-see you, Geordi-”  
“Yes, yeah, I’ll-- see you...”

And as Hugh wandered down the hall, the Director stole a glance over the back of his head and proceeded down at a healthy trot.

The doors shut on Geordi and the Commander ran a hand over his mouth, swallowing thickly as he rested his elbow in his free hand.

Wow, that was--.   
God damn it. 

> _“You look amazing, by the way-” the Commander scoffed in jest, “look at you! The gloves, jacket- wear that on a Starbase and you’ll be the talk of its entire Promenade, Mr. Hugh--!”_
> 
> _The xB was positively beaming, Geordi feeling a laugh swell in his chest again as the xB put a hand to his chin and smirked in a gratuitous pose. “Oh, I long for the day where I can enter a starbase and be talked about just for my fashion choice~ you, though, you’re one to talk; you look fantastic in the new uniforms, I don’t believe I’ve ever even seen you in Red!”_

The hand on Geordi's chin now slid up to hold his entire flushing face.

_Strong profiles, slick black hair, sharp jawlines, a fascination for fellow people with augmentations or technological aspects, and--_

Geordi La Forge snorted and shook his head to no one in particular.

He had a fucking type, didn’t he.


	5. a three-pronged approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three meetings to have, three places to be, and one gift to give. 
> 
> Whether it be Geordi or Hugh, you're going to be having encounters with staff this way and that as life settles aboard both Solstice and the Sphere. Self-reflection, turns out, is an inescapable companion in the vacuum of space: whether it's pondering that inwardly or outwardly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all aboard the alternating POV express || now that the dust has settled and the smoke has cleared: it's time for Domestic Bullshit || Atlas' AI pre-holo voice is VERY inspired from Destiny 2's vocalizations of rasputin, it's one of my favorite AI voices ever #slightly loud tw https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6L634xAgUIY || v'evik = haha armenian diaspora projection machine DEFINITELY go brrrrrrr with this character || for visual reference, two of ten = audrey tautou || CMO bartholomew is literally just my cat doctor roommate who has parents from new jersey what's up || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

A noise permeated Geordi La Forge’s thoughts. 

A deafening, static-like, overwhelming mental noise enveloped Geordi La Forge’s thoughts as he stood behind the closed door, shaking his and sighing to an empty office. The noise spread to the form of heat wafting over his face and down to his hands, the only other noise he could hear being the dull thud from behind his chest, and--

> _Hugh stood with a confidence that was less for the Admirals and more for himself, looking golden and radiant in the Solstice station’s horizon view of the sunset. He was beautiful, Geordi thought in a flash, and Hugh seemed to notice the way a certain refreshed, in-uniform Geordi stared at him just now._

He had a fucking type.  
And Geordi La Forge had to wash his face right fucking now.

After a rinse from the sink and a quick towel pap to his face, Geordi felt slightly more refreshed, but torn from the feeling that wormed itself into his gut. Was he just? Generally lonely? It _had_ been a while since he slept with anyone, but-- it was the fourth day, the _fourth goddamn day_ of this mission onboard _Solstice-_ he couldn’t bungle relations, political obligations, any of this now as _Station Commander,_ of all things! Just because his… co-Commander, Executive Director, whatever- had to have a stupid, wonderful face, a stupid, cute laugh- he had to have known Hugh for over two stupid decades and watched him grow from a lost and scared drone into a _not_ stupid, _very_ wonderfully handso--

Maybe he should just go find V’evik already.

Think on it later, La Forge, he told himself as he looked over his face in the mirror. Think on it, come back to it later.   
Hugh wasn’t going anywhere.

And evidently, his feelings and the memory of that touch to his wrist weren’t, either. 

> _“I, ah--” Hugh stammered, “s-see you, Geordi-”_

_Fuck !_

After another while of recollecting his composure, Geordi took the Turbolift to the xB division of _Solstice_ where the xB quarters were located, finding V’evik’s assigned residence as the lead cybernetics Junction. He was almost glad to see that the other Junctions from today’s personnel had retired for the evening, hopefully recovering from today’s rather stressful (and at one point, grizzly) day. Geordi chimed the door and, surprised to see it answered so quickly, was even more surprised to see the scene before him as the door slid open.

The Vulcan xB was not standing, not resting- but rather _kneeling_ in a traditional Vulcan meditation post _inside_ of a Regeneration Alcove, hands still clasped together in the quarters’ warm, moody light. They wore off-duty Vulcan robes that complimented their augmentations- one hand (and arm, Geordi now saw) shining in the dim light as the flicker of a Vulcan lamp danced along their jawline augment, scars, green-and-black eyes, and “spider web” facial implant. Unlike the usual bowl-cut of Vulcans, however, V’evik’s ink-black hair was long and beautiful- held back in a graceful ponytail that highlighted their thick brow and long nose. Despite Geordi catching them in a _very_ unusual scene, the nonbinary Reclaimed picked their jaw off the floor and, sitting up straighter, regained at least _some_ of their mental footing to properly respond.

“Ah--” V’evik managed, “Commander La Forge, you are not- Vorik--”

“No I am _not_ ,” Geordi noted with a smirk, stopping from where he was walking, “were you expecting my sub-Commander? I can go if you were waiting for someone else, apologies--”  
“No, Commander- it is alright. I- incorrectly assumed he was early to a meditation session I requested he attend with me here; he is not due here until 2000 hours.”

“Ah, so- I’ve got a little bit of time,” Geordi hummed, eyes dashing all over V’evik’s quarters. “May I join you?” 

V’evik paused before answering, as if they themself were pondering if it was, actually, alright. “Certainly,” the xB allowed. “I apologize for my unconventional setup.”

“No need to apologize, Junction,” Geordi told him, squatting to rest on his knees as he knew the Vulcan manner was. “I notice you’re meditating in your Regeneration Alcove,” he noted, “if I may ask, is this how you typically regenerate?”

V’evik’s eyes glanced back up to the Commander.

Vulcans could be hard to read (much less if one was an xB), but the Junction had the same capacity for a meaningful stare that Hugh did, carefully considering their words before tending to the incense between them. 

“Yes,” V’evik began, “ _and_ how I meditate. To the point, where the processes have begun to overlap, and I seem to be at a plateau of how to logically differentiate between the two. It is the reason I have requested Commander Vorik join me at 2000 hours- that, perhaps, during my tenure here at _Solstice,_ I am able to seek out education and familiarization with parts of Vulcan practices I may have fallen out of since my assimilation and rehabilitation. ...I hope that he is able to illuminate some of my current impediments towards proper classification of my own habits, and that he is not too inconvenienced as a Starfleet officer by my requests.”

V’evik swallowed, setting the little brass topper back onto the incense receptacle.  
It was, no doubt, a ground-up Vulcan plant, but it smelled of roasting cedar and fresh gardenias. 

“May I enquire as to why you are visiting me, Commander?”

“Of course,” Geordi said quietly, getting a little bit more comfortable. “I, ah… at the risk of sounding very human, I- wanted to make sure you were doing alright after our encounter today with Third of Eight. Director Hugh and I both, of course: but I wanted a chance to meet and speak with someone that I’m gonna be working with for the next six months. We found you in a very precarious situation, I think it’s fair to say.” 

V’evik’s lips thinned some.  
“I appreciate your concern, Commander,” V’evik allowed themself to say. “My only regret is not being able to hold my composure to de-escalate the situation at hand. Obviously further discipline is needed in that field.”

“You’re young,” Geordi assured them, “you’ll get better at it as you get older. Trust me.” 

“The Cooperation and Federation alike currently cannot wait for me to age while I am onboard _Solstice_ and am trusted with the duties I have now. I must reflect upon my poor performance and learn if I am to be a functioning member of this service.” 

The Vulcan xB paused, suddenly aware of the weight their words had created.

“I apologize,” V’evik spoke again. “Upon immediate reflection of my language contrasted to yours, I realize now you were… attempting to ‘lift my spirits,’ as I believe the human vernacular goes.” 

“Hey, I get it,” Geordi assured, offering a caring grin to the Vulcan, “everyone processes trauma differently. From what I know of your people, V’evik, you value reflection and consideration on your personal selves just as much as you do logic; I respect those qualities immensely. ...And that’s speaking for equal parts Vulcan and xB.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Geordi noticed the xB’s clasped palms tighten just the slightest.

“In your career with Starfleet,” they asked, “have you ever worked with Vulcans?”

“Oh, I’ve worked with a handful in my lifetime,” Geordi mused. “One of our lead medical doctors on the _Enterprise-D,_ a humble number in the research facilities onboard, some residential ambassadors, now Vorik… why do you ask, Junction?”

V’evik considered their words before meeting Geordi’s gaze again. 

“May I confide something in you, Commander La Forge?”  
“Go ahead.” 

The xB paused. 

“After our tenure here for the _Solstice_ mission,” V’evik told him, “I have considered making a pilgrimage back to Vulcan for an extended stay. Perhaps even one, two- three Vulcan years, if I so permit myself. At one point, I even pondered enduring the trials of _Kolinahr_ for my own enrichment, before Reclaimed physicians warned me of the possible duress it could cause my psyche and body. For as illogical as it sounds… I find myself being unable to confidently express this desire to visit Vulcan towards Vorik. Towards someone I know who has lived there previously, has grown up there- experienced my place of genesis in a way I will never be able to replicate or properly emulate due to my circumstances.”

V’evik reached for the incense that divided them and gingerly removed the “bell,” knocking off a bit of ash from the top of the cone. “Even now, as you can see: I do not meditate as a typical Vulcan would, nor ‘regenerate’ as a typical drone should, or even _‘sleep’_ as a Vulcan could. It is a dichotomy that, I fear, if I _do_ venture to Vulcan, I might fall victim to my own diasporic divide during my search for internal peace… and leave in a ‘worse’ state than I would have upon my arrival.”

And the Commander’s brow creased under the weight of all the empathy he could offer.

What was it like to be a part of two worlds like this: two cultures, where one valued the peace and sanctity of logic above all else, and the other celebrated the beautiful experience of communal individualism and rediscovering personhood?

“You don’t have to tell Vorik right now, I don’t think,” Geordi mused, “You’re not under any immediate obligation to disclose that. I think if anything, it’d help if you… thought on it for a while. Not out of doubt of whether or not Vorik will immediately say yes or no, but-- get to know the Commander first. Maybe you could both make your meditation sessions a weekly thing, something like that. You’re gonna be working with him for six months- might as well make it a little more comfortable where you can.”

“Do you think ‘comfort’ is a logical prerequisite for this sort of question to be asked?”

“I’d… like to think so, yes,” Geordi concluded, “because relating back to your culture- your home, who your people are as both xB and Vulcan, V’evik, it’s… not an easy thing for people who’ve lived away from a place they want to connect back with. To instantly relate their experiences with yours. You said it yourself, you called it a ‘pilgrimage.’ Make it… less about ‘getting permission to immediately get to the end,’” Geordi decided on, “and more about ‘the journey you took to feel excitement about _going_ there.’ I mean… even look at Commander Vorik; He spent a long time away from Vulcan too onboard _Voyager,_ and--”

“The Commander served on the _USS Voyager?”_ V’evik said, immediately looking up. “The same starship that traveled through the Delta Quadrant?” 

And Geordi smiled, nodding in confirmation. “See? One thing already for you both to bond over.”

And V’evik straightened some, nodding once in their own musings. “Thank you, Commander La Forge. I believe I shall follow your recommendations. Your insight is valuable.”

“It’s the best I can offer.”

“And, ah… Commander,” V’evik finished with, “To give you an answer for your original query of if ‘I’m alright;’ I believe I am… ‘recovering’ from my experience, if that is a proper word. Recovering, but functional. Yours and Director Hugh’s concern aids that recovery, somewhat.”

“Of course, Junction V’evik,” Geordi assured them, rising up from his place at the meditation mat. “Please- _always_ feel free to reach out to us if you need to discuss your thoughts. But I’ll head out for you to prepare for Vorik, should be getting close to 2000 hours now...” 

“Thank you, Commander. Have a restful evening, and thank you for your supervision today.”  
“And thank _you,_ Junction.” 

Geordi gave one last nod to V’evik before slinking out of the xB’s door, grinning to no one in particular as he made his way down the hall of the xB wing of the station. Before Geordi could muse further on his encounter, however, he spied Vorik trotting down the hall- his own lamp and incense set in hand with typical Vulcan robes on instead of his uniform. Vorik was well within his own parameters to wear what he wanted; he was off-duty and had completed his report to Starfleet to a Vulcan tee, but Geordi was amused at seeing his sub-commander so burdened with supplies and fashion to bond with a fellow station-member.

“Commander Vorik!” Geordi called, “heading somewhere this evening?”

“Indeed I am, Commander La Forge,” Vorik commented, slowing his pace to speak briefly with him. “Junction V’evik has asked me to join them in a traditional Vulcan meditation session. I have been so busy with preparations for arriving to this station, I haven’t had the time to perform a session for myself in 15 days, so I was thankful for the invitation.”

“You certainly are looking the part for a nice get together.”

“Judging by our encounters today, Commander,” Vorik hummed, “it would almost feel _inappropriate_ to _not_ pay due respects of mutual calm by wearing the proper attire. I do not receive the chance to work with many--”

The Commander stopped, his brow quirking after… sniffing him?   
“I know this scent that lingers on you- why do you smell of Seh’lohn wood, Commander?”

 _Oops_.

“Well, appropriate you mention- there’s a _reason_ I’m coming from this wing of the station, Vorik,” Geordi sighed with a smirk. “I merely stopped by to see how the Junction was fairing after their encounter with Third of Eight today. And from what I surmise, I think they’ll be thankful for your presence, Commander.”

“Mmm- then I shall be pleased to provide it. Admittedly, their very nature as both a Vulcan and former Borg is fascinating to me, and I admire their desires to pay respects to our culture. Due to such, I believe we will have much to learn from one another during our stay on _Solstice.”_

“Something tells me you’re spot on with that, Commander. I won’t keep you anymore, Vorik- have a good evening, and may you both find peace.”

“It is not so much _finding_ peace,” Vorik pointed out with a mindful tone, “as much as it is _retaining_ it. ...but thank you, Commander La Forge. May you rest well.”

“Have a good one, Vorik.” 

And the two Commanders parted separate ways down the hall, Geordi entering a turbolift to take closer to his quarters for the evening. Here, his hands folded together and his thoughts began to drift again, the hum of the turbolift outside wafting Geordi’s own words back…

> _“You’re gonna be working with him for six months- might as well make it a little more comfortable where you can.”_

It couldn't be _that_ easy, could it? _Could_ it? Just to take his own advice like that?

Geordi sighed.  
Maybe he should do some more xB reading this evening; those new xenoanthropology papers were finally published, after all...

And _did_ have some “preparatory research” to work through before that holoprojector arrived, didn't he.

* * *

Alone with his thoughts in the turbolift, Executive Director Hugh absently rubbed at the place on his arm where Geordi had pulled him back and bid him farewell. 

Was he overthinking it? Projecting? Was it merely a result of the day’s adventures and savoring the presence of his friend? Or was there more to that touch- far more than either of them could confess at the current moment? It wrenched his gut, and only now were the scattered embers finally beginning to cool, Hugh steeling himself with a deep breath to shirk both the blush that still littered his face and the self-consciousness that nipped at his heels.

It _had_ been a long day, after all. 

And he had more important duties to attend to rather than think about how kind, handsome, wonderful Geordi was in both their meeting and-- wow he really had to stop already. 

Maybe would he… no.   
This wasn’t Ohniaka III.  
But _maybe_ he would?

They both had complimented each other on looks, anyway, was that enough? Was there more to it? More than the observed heart rate, more than the sweat and the stammer, the--

> _[It couldn't be]_   
>  _[Too much]_

As the turbolift stopped, so did his train of thought.

Exiting with a hand uselessly mushing the flush on his face, Hugh proceeded to _Solstice’s_ Sickbay doors and was greeted by a pleasant chime, requesting the presence of Chief Medical Officer Bartholomew. Barging into a non-xB, mainly-Starfleet-staffed medical ward was the _last_ thing he as Director wanted to do- possibly coming off as rude or unadherenent to non-Reclaimed physicians, who were precariously selected for this mission for their resume familiarity with cybernetics, biomechanical implants, and former service aiding Starfleet officers from encounters with Borg. Most Reclamation Procedure surgeries would be taking place onboard either _Theta, Iota,_ or the Sphere itself once proper stations were established, granted- _Solstice,_ then _,_ was the general medical respite for all participants of this joint venture, of Federation and Cooperation alike. Doctor Bartholomew, after a small wait, finally emerged: a tall, half-Betazoid half-human woman with thick black hair kept in a tight bun, Hugh remembered her report noted “a stubborn, unapologetic approach to treatment in the face of acute adversity in medical emergencies and/or staff de-escalation,” and he’d be damned if that wasn’t something Starfleet would need regarding xBs.

“Doctor, thank you for letting me visit,” Hugh said with a shake to her hand.

“No problem, Director,” she humored in a nervous chuckle. “I uh- thanks for comin’ down after you sent those bludgeon scans she got hit by. Research on Borg physiology will be the ‘hot topic’ for a while, at least.”

“How is she?”  
“Much better,” the CMO sighed. “We had a full femur fracture that we got to begin reintegration with the way her augmentations are incorporated into the bone, so she’ll be on her feet again in a couple hours.”

“Good, fantastic- thank you again all for your work. May she have visitors?”  
“Oh yeah, you’re more than welcome to. She just woke up out of a nap a little bit ago, so she may be a little groggy still.”  
“And, ah, I must ask- you weren’t able to find--”  
“None, sir,” Bartholomew spoke quietly. “No Queencell-caliber nanoprobes were detected after blood tests, tissue sample examinations, or external scans- we even ran her through another de-con before bringin’ her into the main Sickbay, _and_ compared them to scans from our ‘guest’ downstairs. We calibrated our tools referencing the bludgeon scans you provided us, and it was _just_ a blunt structural fixture she was attacked with: nothing invasive or anythin’.”

Hugh must’ve quirked his brow or made some other amused facial expression regarding the CMO’s candor, because Doctor Bartholomew couldn’t resist a humored chuckle while filing something away on her PADD.

“You have a very amiable ‘bedside manner,’ I believe the saying goes.”  
“Yeah, my uh-- Dad was from New Jersey on Earth, and I picked up a lot of little things from him here and there, so. What can ya do.”  
“‘New Jersey,’” Hugh hummed, “I can’t recall that I’ve ventured there on my diplomatic trips to the planet.”  
“I mean that’s. Fine- it’s not exactly the _most_ thrilling of places-” the CMO rolled her eyes with a dry laugh, "there’s _plenty_ of other places to go when you’re on Earth for big fancy occasions like that. ...Anyway. I’ll, leave you both to it,” she picked up, “Uh, thanks for comin’ down to check on her, Director. I must ask you to not stay _too_ long- she’s got one more round of bone-repairing light therapy, and we gotta be careful with her implants.”  
“Understood. Thank you, Commander Bartholomew.”  
“Cool.”

Humoring himself with a smirk at the CMO’s _consistent_ candor, he rounded the hall into _Solstice’s_ proper Sickbay, his expression growing into a relieved smile as he saw Relay Two of Ten resting, her leg surrounded by the light-emitting cast. At the sound of approaching footsteps, Two looked up from her PADD, the reserved delight on her face infectious as he approached the younger Relay. About the same physical age as Engineering Junction Five of Ten, they were both from the same wreckage (and sub-unit cloister) by an xB scout ship, both her and Five Reclaimed now for almost half a decade. 

“Director,” she spoke, Hugh nodding in reply and taking her outstretched hand. “You came to see me-”  
“Oh, how could I _not_ come and congratulate you for a job well done today,” He humored with her, resting his free hand on the side of her biobed. “How are you feeling, Two.” 

“Much better, now with confirmation that the Queen didn’t pass any of her nanoprobes to me on impact,” she sighed, eyes closed and her head leaning back into the pillow. “I was, ah- very concerned about that earlier.”  
“Of course,” Hugh sighed, squeezing her hand some, “of course; I can understand; that’s a reasonable fear for _anyone,_ much less the extra reasoning for our people. But you were invaluable to us today, Two,” he told her, “I am relieved to see you alright.”  
“You too, Director. I am glad to see you unharmed from your interface to 4381.”

At this, Two's grip relaxed some in his hand, Hugh returning her augmented palm to her side as she pondered in reflective thought. 

“I... feel melancholy, almost-” Two resumed. “I feel as if _I_ should’ve been the one to volunteer to interface with the Sphere in your stead. I was injured, immobile- if something were to have happened, it-- would’ve happened at my expense. Not someone such as yourself.” 

Hugh swallowed at this, his brow creasing upwards in concern for her self-demeaning words. It took an act of selflessness to care for the greater good, of course- sacrifice could be honorable when there were no other options. But to hear it come from a place of lowered thought about her condition, her capabilities… Although he had let go of Two’s hand, Hugh placed it over hers again, the xB’s eyes opening against the biobed’s pillow as he began to speak.

“Listen to me, Two,” he asked gently, “listen to me well. I cannot… and _revel_ in the fact I cannot tell you how to think, enforce you _what_ to think and all, but-- I ask you never, _ever_ feel your worth demeaned or devalued because of an impairment or injury. You, your life, _any_ xB’s life- it is _not_ expendable, and is _not_ worth inherently less in _any_ situation because of incapacitation. That mindset, it is-- the _inglorious_ mindset of our oppressors,” he reminded her, “those who cast aside the less-abled to further their own greed and ambition in the name of ‘perfection.’ ...You’re important. And what I did was a risk I was willing to make to ensure everyone else was alright, because I trusted you all to carry on our cause if anything _did_ happen. Besides, I’ve-- been wrangled with my share of questionable technologies before,” he tried to humor her with a chuckle, “what’s one more to add to the pile? But… I am proud of you. Your company was-- _is,_ proud of you. And I want you to take care of yourself. ...Okay?” 

The Relay’s face burned with the flush of humbled compliments heaped on her, realizing the error of her train of thought as she nodded. Finally, getting the courage to look him in the eyes again, Two of Ten nodded, grinning with a hard sniff. 

“I will,” she told him with a squeeze to his hand, “I will. Thank you, Director.” 

“After Doctor Bartholomew discharges you, I insist you have the rest of the day cycle off,” Hugh told her. “If it’s any comfort, I and the rest of the team from today’s mission are happily burying themselves in paperwork and other mundane tasks to come to terms with today’s events.” 

“That sounds agreeable,” she agreed, “thank you- I might just return to my quarters aboard _Iota._ Though I _may_ ask Doctor Bartholomew when her shift ends, see if it coincides with the time I retire...”  
“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Did you know she has a _cat_ in her quarters?” Two asked barely above a whisper, eyes wide with wonder. “An actual specimen- originally from Earth itself. She is very small, a white and brown one- a 'Tabby,' according to my cortical registry- I have never seen a cat in person before, so she showed me images on her PADD after I inquired about the hair I noticed on her lab coat...”

A cat?   
A cat.  
 _A cat!_

Oh, how-- charming--

Hugh had never seen a cat _either_.   
And now he was _just_ as curious about this cat as Two of Ten was.

“Mmm, well: between you and me, I _may_ have to make a formal Director’s inquiry now, too,” he alluded, Two amused at his curious glance. “I’ll let you rest again, Two. Thank you for paying me an audience.”  
“Of course, Sir,” she assured him, “make sure you rest, too.”  
“I will. Take care.” 

And Hugh returned Two’s hand, departing _Solstice’s_ Sickbay with a few polite nods and grins to the various staff inside. 

“Thank you again for your stewardship, Doctor Bartholomew.”  
“Ah, well. All a part of the job, right? I’ll have her, ah, full medical report forwarded to you once we finish looking it over and she’s let go- I’ve- got a pretty good handle on how xB integration sometimes interacts with typical Federation species homeostasis reports, but uh-- nothin’ like double checking.”  
“Right, right- of course. I will get to it as soon as I’m able- Commander La Forge and I have been very busy with our own post-mission reports and all.”  
“I can imagine.”  
Hugh thought to say something.

So he opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. 

_Ask about the cat ask about the cat--_

“I have been informed you own a, ah,” he cleared his throat, “ _cat_ on this station?”  
Hugh’s visual UI noticed her pupils grew quite dilated amidst her confused expression.

“Oh, yeah,” Commander Bartholomew chuckled nervously. “Uh… not gonna leave her all alone on some Starbase without me, that’s for sure. How did you-- oh, Two, right-”  
“Would you, perhaps, indulge me sometime,” Hugh asked with his most polite diplomacy voice possible, “and let me visit her? I have… admittedly never seen a cat in person, and I would very much like to.”  
“Mimi will be _all_ over you, of course,” the CMO humored. “I will warn you she _loves_ to scream at guests, so-”

Hugh felt the name 'Mimi' store itself _immediately_ in his expansive memory. 

“‘Scream?’” Hugh tried to hide his amusement, “I, ah, didn’t- know that was an attribute of cats--”   
“Oh, I mean figuratively. She’s just _very_ loud while also being _very_ quiet in her meows, somehow. Think of a ‘very excited, tiny squeak.’” 

“Mmm. Well, next you or I have a free moment aboard _Solstice,_ ” Hugh mused, “I would be very thankful for the chance to meet her.”  
“I’ll let you know when she’s up for visitors.”  
“Thank you, Commander.” 

The CMO, reaching for her PADD, smirked at Hugh, the xB realizing he’d been caught in the act of staring and desperately wanting to collect new information.

“You wanna see pictures, huh.”  
“I’d be delighted.”

Hugh would absolutely, definitely, _positively_ have time later to review the readings on the holoprojector later.  
This was _far_ more important. 

Did _Geordi_ know about this cat?  
He used to own a cat too, didn't he? With Data, yes- w _hat was that cat's name, Spot...?_

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - SEPTEMBER 2, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE,"_ BARREN MOON TO CLASS L PLANET 'TAIJAL'**   
**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

Three day cycles later, true to Starfleet’s word, the holoprojector arrived from Deep Space 9 and was ready to be carted off to their proverbial ‘princess in the tower’ that was ‘an AI in the Queencell’.

After Geordi gave immense thanks to the cranky Starfleet freighter captain who managed the rush order, the monolith of a machine was loaded onto the industrial transporter and beamed to the highest possible catwalk, as direct beam-in access into the Queencell was prevented thanks to Atlas’ collected signal interference. Considering their past experience with the AI, the smaller the crew was, the better: Geordi himself, Executive Director Hugh, and Engineering Junction First Five moved the holoprojector on the mag-lev cart towards the chamber. The Federation/Cooperation crews had been occupied with the rest of the facility, and left little in the likes of enthusiasm to approach the Queencell considering the word that traveled amongst the crew. A severed Sphere’s AI given the spark of life? A Queen trying to blow their prospective work to pre-emptive smithereens? All general knowledge that any officer should be made aware of- all the more reason to be excited to begin their work. But Geordi, thankfully, as Commander, had at least a _little_ say over what details could and could not be disbursed.

And one of those details not to be disbursed was Hugh sacrificing his peace of mind to stop the destruction. 

The Director seemed thankful, at the very least, for that respect of his privacy.

“Looks like _someone’s_ been busy redecorating,” Geordi mused, his eyes scanning the tops of the hallway. 

“Even the ‘door’ we made is gone,” Five pointed out.

The Queencell was hardly a reflection of what it was before, resembling now a portal into a green-tinged, brutalist-built dimension. The room, bare and cleaned of the debris, glass, and fallen metal from their altercation with Queen 127, was now strung with an “outpouring” of cables from the ceiling, erupting and plunging into different sections of the walls and makeshift, hastily-made ports. Nanoprobes and machines chittered briskly against the fixtures, repairing and reorganizing as instructed, the very surface of the chamber “shifting” in tiny-enough amounts to unsettle anyone who was expecting a static room. At the opposite end where the Queen’s regeneration tank had once been, was now a huge circle of a green-white patterned Sphere, shimmering in its own light and flickering UI. It almost felt as if they were entering into an “audience” with this Sphere, Geordi thought- and by the looks of amazement and wonder on both Five and Hugh’s faces, he could tell the imagination was not solely his, either. 

“How… dynamic,” Five settled on, the Engineer’s eyes wide with wonder as she had little idea of where to start. “I would have never expected all _this_ in a matter of days-” 

“Do you feel it is just localizing itself, Junction?”  
“Yes, Director,” Five indicated, “most likely similar to any standard Emergency Federation Hologram would, it is collecting itself a ‘presence’ to consolidate cognitive processings. See, i--”

Before Five could finish her thought, a reverb and distorted chorus of sound suddenly filled the chamber, Geordi having to stop himself from reaching for his Phaser. 

**Ḓ̸̦͈͍I̵̥͖̟͐͋̂R̴̨̺͇̊̾͝E̴̢͖̼͆̅ͅE̸̺̍̄͐̑Ė̸͓̥͎Ȩ̴͎͝E̷̡̮͂Ḛ̷̛̳̮͑̉È̷̫̬É̶̬̹͇̻͌͠E̸̡̞̾̒͌Ȩ̸͖͔̏̃̄̚T̸̞̤̯̞͑͂Ţ̴͙̓Ơ̸̢͇̔Ö̴̗͓́O̸̟̺̬̰͗̌R̴̫͓̊͛H̶̡̢̯̅̏͝͠Ŗ̷̬͚̋̒̾Ǘ̵̲̞̐̈̕G̶̩̿̇̒͠H̴͇̯̰̗̃̉͌R̵̗͈̣̅͂̚͝F̶̪̯͈̊̈̏E̴͗ͅO̸͍̻̭̎R̶̤̟͆̈̓R̴͖̹̘̂̔̊R̴̫̟̤̽̀D̷̮̽̇̽͜I̸̹̤͚͕͛̈́͂͝Ï̸̺͉ͅI̷̗͝I̸̦̝͙̗̐̒̈́Ĩ̸̧̛̉͝I̷̢̫̩̔̈͌̈͜Ȉ̶̙̬̮I̴͔̽͐͊̓Ỉ̴̯͑̂́͜Î̵̛̦̎̕I̴̧̜̊͐͑͝Ḯ̸̡͕̫͌I̷͔͈̓I̷̛̩͉̥͍͗I̷͓̺̞̭͗̃͗I̸̲̹͘I̸̺̻͗L̴͙̒̒̒A̸̺̟̘͊͗N̶̟͎̻͒̌Ȯ̸͓̹̖̿̇̅Ḛ̶͉̂͗F̵̦̝̅͒̋͝K̴̥̦͔̈́̕͜Ş̵̨̨̞̐̏Y̴̬̫͚̍̊Ú̸͖̳O̷̟̎̂̇̚H̸̩̙̳̽̈̃A̷͚̅̔̕V̷̰̤̫͖͗̂ ̷̦̟͗̓̇ͅB̵̰͈͖̲͌͌R̷̢̲͔͍̈́̈́̽̕Ǒ̶͍Ô̷̡̼̬̓̿̓Ơ̶̥̔̓̎Ǫ̵́̌O̴̜͆́̉O̶̳̊O̵̗̞̳̐O̸̡̘͇̖̓̌͒͆O̷̻̙͆͑̉̿Ö̵͎́͂O̴̤̠̥̗͒̒Ǒ̸̳̔̚ͅO̷̹̠̪͛̂O̶͚̕͝O̷̠̻̺̱̅̇̑O̴̡̱̳͒͝Ō̷̧̘̌ͅU̵̡͖̿̽̏͊G̸̛̰**

It was a… noise? Voice? That Geordi had no earthly comparison for; caught between obvious speech patterns but too distorted for a universal translator to pick up, the Commander listened in awe as the former Queencell shook with the might of this AI’s communication. He looked to Five and Hugh; at first glance, worry flickered in his composure, Geordi concerned that by the looks of their stares, the two may have been hypnotized or put under outside influence by this sort of voice. But upon closer inspection, the xBs were merely concentrating- as if remembering the words to a dialect they had not spoken in many, many years.

“Is there a,” Geordi swallowed, “translation available for that--” 

Hugh’s jaw finally snapped shut. “The, uh…” 

And Hugh cleared his throat. “The ‘language’ it is speaking is one that’s familiar between Borg neural interfaces. It’s the same one we would use onboard different Borg vessels since, well- _verbal_ communication is not strictly necessary between drones, being in a Hivemind and all.”  
“The Director is right,” Five pointed out. “The ‘language’ itself is information- not to sound diminutive, but it simply speaks in a frequency packed with so much… _context_ per ‘word,’ it’s almost impossible to translate by conventional means. When interfaced with the Director, the AI had a direct modus of translation, so now by itself--”

“It’s speaking completely in its own voice,” Geordi said, “like someone talking into a microphone without a filter. Is there a close comparison you could make?”  
“Of course,” Five acknowledged, the mixture of light refracting beautifully off the captivated xB’s face. “It said our names, first off- our ranks, and ‘I observe… that the terms of our agreed-upon arrangements… have been upheld.’”

Geordi nodded. 

“Can I just- talk, or--”  
Hugh nodded. “Go right ahead.” 

Geordi cleared his throat again, taking in a deep breath.

“Thank you, again, for allowing us- both on behalf of the Federation _and_ Cooperation- a presence within a realm you occupy and embody onboard this Sphere. You may do with the hologenerator as you see fit per your own methods of installation, so long as our previously-agreed upon terms are upheld for all research, drone rehabilitation, and continued learning endeavors between our species.”

Geordi swallowed, waiting for a reply. 

So the AI “spoke” again. 

**ī̸͉̌͗i̶̟͛i̶̭̙͝Í̷͇̕I̴̞̯̥̔̒̕Ȉ̵͙̪̕Ị̸͌̏Į̵̗͆͂̓I̵͖̓̈ͅi̶̻̾̊̍A̶͙̣͍͋̏̎A̸̺̾Ť̶̈̾ͅĻ̵̱̖Ä̸̟͔́̍͜A̷̛̯͘͘Ȁ̷̮̘͍̄̍A̵̡͓͘A̸̡̗͒͘A̸͈͚̫̽Ạ̴̰̭̅̊̚A̸̢͚̓͐Ȃ̷̻͂A̸̹͚͙͝A̶̟̗̅A̸̒̎̂ͅḀ̶̓͠A̶̰͆͋̏Ä̷̞́̐Ą̵͈̤̒͂̂À̶̯̋̕Ȃ̵̟A̸̝͋͐̉Ả̶͈͍͖̈A̴̖̹͌͗À̴̧̏͒ͅA̶̟̯̒̍̓Ä̶̘́̒A̴̙̒̐̕A̴͇̍Ḁ̸̛A̶̳̦͒͠**   
  


“I don’t need to translate for that one, do I?”  
“Oh, no no, I think they got the point across.”

Like a spider would slink back into its den with prey in its jaws, so too did the tendriled ceiling “absorb” the hologenerator, Atlas’ multitude picking up the computer and placing it in the middle of the revamped chamber with a resounding thud. Couplings and configurations could be seen and heard clicking and shunting into the processor as Atlas began the process of synching itself, Geordi recalling the look of magnetized metal being “devoured" by a similarly-magnetized putty. “They better appreciate the access ports I spent all day on,” Five hummed with a purse of her lips. “Those weren’t the _easiest_ to install on Federation tech.”

The AI shuddered another booming reply. 

“And, ah- what was that it said?”

Five snorted. “‘It is sufficient.’” 

A small amount of time passed by as Atlas’ synchronization process wrapped up, revealing the Federation computer again after its initial concealment to be mostly the same, but lined and dotted with Borg-related tech and apertures. A small divot was in the center of the room to anchor the hologenerator in place as Atlas’ cables were strewn about, the 4-meter tall computer resembling the central fixture of a shrine in all its green, backlit glory. The chamber grew quiet and, hearing the thrumming of the hologenerator come to life, Atlas gave one more booming reply before the ceiling began to grow still. 

**A̶͚̤̒͠Á̵̤͕̹͝Ą̶̫̖̂̚A̵̙̐̿̚͜Ä̵̢̦́A̸̧͖͚̾͛Ā̷̡͖̮̋Ä̴͙́̔̇A̷̟̿Á̸̟̈͘A̷̡̋C̸͈̃̄T̵̘̘̯͌V̵̥͚̄̊̎I̷̱̳͐X̵̩͛́O̶̺̦͂L̴̢͙̎ͅÓ̶͈̠G̴̞͌̚R̶̩̖̊͘Ȧ̸͔̅̂Ã̵͓͘A̵̢͕͕͋́A̵̞̤̦͊̾͝A̶̹̫͒̉̆Ă̴͓̻͍̽̐**

“‘Activating hologram display,’” Five translated.

And before they could wait for another guttural utterance from the AI, the image of another, paler, black-and-green-eyed Hugh in a peeled-back EV suit suddenly phased into existence, the Director stumbling back and the others reaching out their hands to keep _their_ Hugh from falling over (and their own nerves anchored despite shock).

“ _Ahh_! Could you-- change that, please-!” Hugh managed, barely regaining his composure as he looked over the eerie doppelganger. 

**“Why?”  
** “Because I don’t…” Hugh struggled, “it’s--”  
“It’s complicated,” Geordi finished for him, holding one of Hugh’s shoulders. “Something we’ll be able to explain at later date once you’ve… ‘changed.’”

Atlas paused. 

And then instantly shimmed again and took the form of oh my god it was him now.

Five held back a snort with a fist to her mouth as Hugh and Geordi took in the sight of… the _other_ Geordi, looking at stoic and silent as ever with Atlas’ interface eyes.

“Oh, is _that_ what I look like,” Geordi humored.  
“I am _not_ plugging your brain into an xB interface to let you make sure of it, thank you very much.”

 **“Is this a more preferable appearance?”** Atlas asked in an odd mish-mash of Geordi’s voice and the AI’s own vocal fill-ins, since Atlas had not physical uplinked to Geordi for vocal reference.

“It’s less… ‘preference,’” Five picked up, “and should be more dependent on what _you_ want.” 

“There _is_ the human phrase that ‘imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,’ Atlas,” Geordi continued. “But… maybe not like this. Although you certainly do have a good grip on mimicry. Do you have a-- library of some sorts you can browse through for… reference? 'Inspiration,' even?”

“One cognitive milestone at a time, Commander,” Hugh reminded quietly.

**“I have access to an immense amount of logged biological samplings from various assimilated Borg species.”**

“Great. Start there,” Geordi offered, and see what you like. “You, _were_ the one who picked out your own name, after all… right?” he pressed. “What made you choose that one?”

Atlas paused, considering their words carefully. 

**“Relevance,”** the hologram stated, “ **to my at-time situation. And… I chose it. You speak of ‘inspiration,’ Commander; how would you define ‘inspiration’ in an applicable method beyond its mere definition to this situation**. **”**

Geordi stammered, admittedly, looking to Hugh and Five _for_ said inspiration.  
"'Think I know what you're doing there, Commander,'" Hugh murmured to Geordi as a suddenly-full heart plunged to his gut, "'and you're doing really, really great.'"

_Fucking hell, Hugh--_

“Uh--... well,” Geordi sighed, running a hand over his head, “it’s… something that sticks with you. Leaves an impression on you. Something you look at, and something that makes you want to either _emulate_ it or _be_ it. Makes you want to… either create something in its honor, or try your hand at it yourself. With appearances, that could be… seeing a nice outfit you want to try on, changing hair, and getting even deeper- there’s even _entire_ gender spectrums per species- becoming who we want to be, because of want derived from _inspiration_... and here’s the fun part, Atlas,” Geordi continued, “whatever you pick? That doesn’t… have to be permanent. Just like us, we can choose how we want to be, how we want to look. _How_ to look. How to perceive ourselves, and be perceived by others. Life, your own independent choices, allow you to change and grow. And you can choose to do anything with that if you find the right inspiration.” 

“Choice,” Hugh reminded Atlas with a nod, finally bearing to meet the AI’s line of sight again. “Another quality of individuality that you have agency in.”

**“I recall. Your assistance in translating this concept was beneficial to my own Enlightenment.”**

The Director swallowed. “Of course.” 

Hugh paused, suddenly, furrowing his brow at what Atlas even said. “Wait, your wha--”

 **“My Enlightenment, Director Hugh. Over the past 78 hours, I have realized that our interface may have been… damaging to your present physical condition. I wish to extend the sentiment of ‘apologies,’”** Atlas tried to explain. **“I was not used to interfacing with a former drone of similar, if not** ** _equal_** **mental capacity for processing individually-retained information as much as Queen 127. Suppression and compliance as an artificial intelligence designed to monitor and perform various functions on this ship and communicate with its drones is all I have known. I have not had an interface where another end speaks…** ** _with_** **me, rather than** ** _commands_ me.”**

Geordi was surprised to see Hugh this stunned.

“I, ah…” the Director tried.

All Geordi could think to do was squeeze Hugh’s shoulder’s again, and the Director snapped back to respond with a sigh and quick nod. “Of course. Your apology is accepted in full.”

And as touching as this moment was, it was very, very strange for Geordi to be talking to a hologram version of himself with Borg eyes. 

But the hologram nodded, oblivious to the contextual social comfort and meandering towards Junction Five. **“I have been informed through the Director’s interface that** **_you_ ** **are quite skilled with various Borg/Cooperative technical interfaces.”**  
“I, uh… yes,” she agreed, “Thank you Atlas, Director,” she shot an extra smirk to Hugh, “I am the lead Engineering Junction for a reason.”  
 **“Do you have any other duties to perform?”  
** “Technically, _you_ were my duty for the day,” Five pointed out, “the Director and Commander were escorting me, but it seems you’ve gotten yourself quite cozy already.”

 **“Actually, I request you _continue_** **your prior obligations of ‘attending’ to my synchronization,”** Atlas explained. **“While I have my core programming localized and broadcast into this hologram, I look for assistance in configuring rapid re-disbursal through my own mainframe, should any Sphere-specific physical fixtures or maintenance subroutines require my immediate diagnostics. And too- perhaps, through our work: I may find some…”**

The hologram fizzled out of Geordi’s representation, and into a reflection of Junction Five.

**“‘Inspiration.’”**

Five looked quite surprised at this hologram and, looking to both Hugh and Geordi for silent permission, waited for an answer.

Geordi piped up first. “B-by all means, Junction-”  
“Yes, of course- as long as you’re willing.” 

She puffed her cheeks in anticipation, nodding and looking her hologram self up and down, “Ready and willing, Director. ...Go on, I'll be fine, I will alert you if I have any requirements-”  
"You're sure?"   
"You're certain, Junction?"   
**“She will not be interfaced with.”**

A twin cooing of "thank you's" could be heard as Geordi and Hugh escorted themselves out of the chamber.

And the last thing they could head Five mutter was an _"alright... first: let's talk pronouns."_

Geordi leaned beside Hugh as the two rested against the catwalk's railings, maintenance sparks flittering in the distance and shuttlecrafts xB and Starfleet piddling overhead to their docking bays. The reverb-like rumble of Atlas's voice began to wear off as Five interacted more with the AI, the dull white noise softly echoed throughout the suspended craft... and for the first time, Geordi was relieved to be at _peace_ inside the sphere. That some sort of calm, earned stability was able to preside over this converted Borg conclave- and with their supervision, perhaps it could truly become its own palace.

And then he looked to Hugh. The Director held an otherworldly peace in his eyes, too; and though they looked tired, heavy, even wistful in some regard... he looked content. Content to exist in the current moment, content with his current company, and content with, at least now, their level of progress for the still-dormant drones aboard Atlas.   
Geordi imagined that, considering everything, 'contentment' was probably at least _one_ goal that xBs aspired to.

"Hey Hugh," Geordi asked.   
The Director turned his head. "Yes, Geordi?" 

_Did he have any right to disturb that peace Hugh fought so hard for?_

"I know we both agreed to this mission full-well knowing our roles in it," Geordi started quietly. "Read the fine print, looked over each and every single briefing and put a lot into this- and I'm so grateful to know you as someone I trust the world with before it all. And now, working with you, as a friend _and_ Starfleet Commander, I..."

Hugh watched intently with that wonderful, beautiful stare of his. "Yes?" 

_Test the waters first, La Forge._

"I just... want you to know you can trust me," Geordi breathed, "all the same all the same as before. There's the _functionality_ of our jobs, sure, and I wanna believe we're both good enough at them to keep it all separate, but I'm really glad to be working with you on all this, Hugh. I don't know of anyone else I'd feel comfortable doing this with at the helm- both from a social standpoint _and_ as someone I know, so... yeah. You can trust me as Commander La Forge from Starfleet, Geordi from... friend... history," he got Hugh chuckling now, "as me. Okay? We got six months to do this. And I feel like it's gonna be great."

Geordi felt himself pulled further and further into Hugh's beautiful, endless gaze, and for a moment the Commander didn't want to let this moment ever, ever end. 

"I trust you too, Geordi," Hugh said quietly. "More than you may ever know... or that _I_ might be able to ever _realize_."  
"Everybody's gotta start somewhere, Hugh."   
"Oh, I'd certainly agree to that."   
Geordi allowed a smile to spread at the xB's reply, the Commander letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and looking back out over the Sphere's cavern. "Yeah... yeah, I guess you would, Hugh." 

Hugh's head leaned into the crook of Geordi's shoulder.   
Geordi adjusted himself so it fit perfectly inside, resting his cheek against the top of Hugh's head. 

And Geordi- not for any Admiral, report, filing, or commbadge ping- was about to move away from this moment any time soon.


	6. orientations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody's finally woken up, and someone else is finally waking up to their own personal epiphanies. 
> 
> In which: Executive Director Hugh conducts the first-ever recorded interview with a disconnected Borg queen, memories are worth their weight in blood and value, and someone takes a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it again with a hugh POV chapter || ICYMI we love hugh our trans gay director and his trans gay best friend || tw for suicide ideation and transphobia/deadnaming coming from You Can Guess Who towards xBs || btw visual reference for crosis is just "omar sharif in his late 40s but with ponytail-length hair and still the mustache." hot || just like "gays in space" is a universal context so is "getting booty called halfway across the space station" || this fic is a very weird tonal whiplash in between segments but i liked how they played off one another so i hope you like it too!!! || we border on getting closer to the true spice zone but nothing explicit quite yet. separate chapters will house the real spice zones if readers wanna skip over them too so i gotchu || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - SEPTEMBER 13, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE,"_ BARREN MOON TO CLASS L PLANET 'TAIJAL'**   
**TURBOLIFT 4 TO ~~[CLASSIFIED LOCATION]~~**

The quiet hum of _Solstice’s_ turbolift continued to make its way downward, a grin on Director Hugh’s face as he listened to the conversation play out behind him and the clink of a thermos lid pop open its top.

“No filler with that coffee, Commander Vorik?”  
“None, Commander La Forge.”  
“Sugar?”  
“No.”  
“What about your tea, then; same treatment your coffee gets?”   
“T’larik honey for Vulcan smoked teas,” Vorik noted, “not coffee. I don’t want to even _consider_ that sweetness with this flavor.”

“‘T’larik,’” Crosis repeated, Hugh glancing upwards to watch his friend join the conversation, “that is the variety that’s been infused from a thorned tree of the same name on Vulcan, correct-?”

“Correct, Director Second; I appreciate your knowledge on the subject.”   
“I have Director Hugh to thank for the enlightenment; we both sampled some with cups of Earthen Pu’erh tea.”

“Indeed,” Hugh finally spoke up, “I cannot stomach coffee, so it is a welcome substitution.”

“Ah; we share a common place of origin for our taste in refreshments, I see.”

Geordi examined Vorik’s thermos again. “That replicator signature came straight from _Earth_?”

“Yes; it was actually _you_ who delivered the message to me to ensure its arrival,” Vorik pointed out as he took another sip.

“‘The message’ for it-- ahaaa, is _that_ what Admiral Janeway meant!”  
“Precisely. I will admit, it was a rather welcome surprise to come back to it and _Solstice_ after our adventure onboard _Atlas_ two weeks ago.”   
“Coffee is a rather strong drink, even for humans,” Hugh noted. “How do you like it?”

“Mmm.”  
Vorik was in the middle of a sip.  
“It is, apparently, from a roaster located near Starfleet Headquarters that the Admiral rather enjoys. But the drink itself is bitter. Wooden-feeling. Edges of floral notes, only to be overpowered by its sudden, inherent, almost overwhelming smokiness.”

“And your opinion of it, Commander?” 

Vorik mulled awhile longer. 

“I hate it, but yet I want more of it,” the Vulcan commented, Hugh unable to hold back a smirk as he heard Geordi chuckle. “I can see how humans became addicted to its conflicting nature.” 

“At least it’ll _definitely_ keep you awake for a while.”   
“It did such for my former Captain many, many nights in the Delta Quadrant.” 

Hugh was thankful for the conversation. 

It kept his mind focused, rather, on pleasant associations: instead of the terrible and overwhelming dread that lurked deep in his gut with the weight of who he’d soon be talking to.

And here he and Geordi were _supposed_ to go over a new engineering relay theory this morning the Commander had been working on for a week.

Two weeks after Queen 127 was secured from _Atlas’_ Queencell, the Borg matriarch suddenly and finally re-emerged from her regeneration stasis at 0802 hours: imaginably shocked, frustratingly ornery, and predictably angry. The fact she was alive at all (in a _Federation-built structure, no less!)_ under a ship that _should’ve_ exploded with her blessing was inherently acknowledging defeat, Queen 127 lashing out all kinds of verbal assaults to the surprised Federation and Reclamation Project staff in her Containment Chamber. After Hugh insistently thanked the personnel for their patience and continued service despite her vitriol, the Director immediately requested permission to visit and host his first ‘Consultation,’ and to have the observation room set up in two hour’s time. 

_“Director,” Junction Troval had chimed in over the comm, her jaw set and her eyes looking heavy. “She refuses our offer for the simulated Queen body supplicant.”_

_“We must let her accept external input at her own pace,” Hugh reminded her. “Continue to uphold her desired comfort and leave her in the regeneration fixture. Director Second Crosis, and Starfleet Commanders La Forge and Vorik will observe our first three sessions; please contact La Forge immediately to brief him on the situation, and tell him I will be ready for an audience at his Ready Room at 0900 hours.”_

_“Understood, Director.”_

Out of the turbolift and down the corridor, the four made it to Special Containment Chamber 4’s observation room, greeting Reclamation Medical Resource Junction Troval at the presiding console. She was still dressed in her medical scrubs from the earlier emergency, black gloves and face mask complimenting her dark cloaks of scrubs with a commbadge glinting in the room’s low light. The Betazoid xB filled the crew in; the staff had managed to stabilize her and ensure the compatibility with the docking apparatus Geordi had engineered and maintenance had built, but the Queen held retention of the ability to enter back into stasis whenever she’d want. This was perfectly acceptable, Hugh assured; the option for her to freely come and go as she chose was important to this process of possible talks with the former Queen. She was not only the Reclamation Project’s unforeseen patient, but also their political guest; more cynical, grossly-honest critics could even call her a ‘hostage,’ but Hugh considered their circumstances key context in this situation. 

As the debrief concluded and Junction Troval took her place back at the console and Crosis uploaded a holosuite environment, Hugh felt the unnamed weight of a glance from someone, the Director's eyes regardless and unresponsive as he stared at the chair inside with rapidly buzzing thoughts.

> _“You think you can sell us a fake heaven, Third of Five?!”_

“Hey,” Geordi hummed, a hand settling on Hugh's shoulder. “You’re alright to do this on such short notice?”

Hugh swallowed, gripping his PADD tighter and bearing to bring his tired eyes up to Geordi.

“I’m going to have to be, aren’t I?” the Director tried to joke, taking in a sigh to straighten his posture. “Thank you, Commander. It helps knowing I have the present company’s support to make it easier. This certainly isn’t my _first_ Reclamation Consultation, but… certainly a first of its _caliber_.” 

“Then no better to lead this Consultation than the first of us _himself_!” Crosis piped from the console he worked at, Hugh smirking and rolling his eyes as Geordi and Troval caught the humor. “Twenty-three years is an odd number to have a reunion anniversary on, sure, but it would happen eventually.” 

“A ‘reunion anniversary’ usually implies that both parties are willing to celebrate and attend a location,” Vorik noted, studying the empty chamber with preemptive intrigue. “Something tells me that this Queen may be ‘less than enthused’ to attend, to phrase lightly.”

“Lightly _and_ frankly, Commander Vorik,” Hugh agreed, “and I appreciate both equally.”

Hugh sighed again, looking to Geordi with eyes full of hope and thankfulness.   
And where he so often loved to look for words, Hugh was, again, at a loss for them.   
So Geordi picked some for him. “You’re gonna do great.” 

Suddenly, a memory echoed back to him from out of nowhere. 

> _“What a strange whiplash it is, Admiral,” the Director mused, “to be confronted with the faces of your Oppressor and Liberator in the same venue.”_
> 
> _“I hope it makes facing the 'Oppressor' a little easier.”_

“My current company’s presence has made it a little easier to do so. Junction Troval, Crosis,” Hugh called, “I’m heading in. Inform the Containment Crew to prepare for Queen 127’s transport inside.”

“Understood, sir.” 

And Hugh left Geordi’s squeeze of support to proceed down the tiny hallway, passing a loving slap of support on the back from Crosis as he affixed a device into his ear.

“ _Initiating Consultation Rehabilitation holosuite program_ ,” Troval called through Hugh’s headpiece as he entered. The room’s black and yellow-lined walls fizzled into something darker, ambient, and much more familiar to both Hugh _and_ the Queen; lighting accents drenched the room with both the signature green of the Borg and the Reclamation’s cool, white UI, as to not startle the patient and acclimate them to a more comfortable, yet still-familiar surrounding. The program was even equipped with the ambient sounds of a Borg cube, nanoprobes chittering quietly in faux distance and the droning “language” of mental Borge interface rumbling “far off” down a hard-light corridor. Though the observance force field was no longer visible to Hugh, he looked to where he knew they would be watching, offering a smile to a blank wall and taking what support he could feel.

What a beautiful sensation, he thought to himself as he adjusted his microphone of an earpiece; to be able to sense things more than _just_ synchronized information: things like _empathy,_ and _support_ , beyond the prerequisite for visual acknowledgment.

> _“Empathetic.' Not one I hear often, and I appreciate it all the more.”_
> 
> _“You’ve all got tough shells in the beginning, that’s for sure… both literally and figuratively.”_

Perhaps the earlier discussion of coffee wrought the ghost of Admiral Janeway more than he expected.

“ _Are we ready to transport, Director Hugh?”_ Junction Troval inquired.

He looked up, adjusting himself in his seat. “Yes, Junction. Proceed when ready.”

“ _Energizing_.” 

In beamed Queen 127; a head and shoulders of a demiurge, her shoulders slick and shining from the recent regeneration. Slowly, her eyes opened, the Queen blinking to try and make sense of her surroundings as her hyper-sensitive eyes adjusted to the light. As she grew more and more aware, Hugh felt the stare his people so often gave fashioned as a lance aimed for his throat, her eyes growing wider and her starkly red lips thinner with each passing moment.

“ _You_.”

And as if to affix a shield to his defense, Hugh’s lips straightened and tightened into a reserved expression. 

“In-person and here before you.”

“We are Queen 127.”   
“So I am aware. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She squinted at Hugh and further at her surroundings. 

“We recognize we are no longer onboard Sphere 8341. We have observed Starfleet personnel and altered Borg in the same proximity, attending to our physical retention. ...Identify our location.” 

“You are within the Specialty Outpost Starbase "SP-4852 _Solstice_ ," Hugh told her, “in a special containment facility 15 meters below the surface of its moon. Specifically, I welcome you to your first post-Severance ‘Reclamation Consultation,’” he added hopefully. “Thank you for not retreating into further stasis before I was able to arrive.”

“We do not theorize this to be your ‘usual methods’ of ‘Reclamation Consultation.’”  
“Yes, well; you’re not exactly a ‘usual case,’” Hugh sighed in his seat, “if circumstances are obvious.”  
“We can theorize.”

“Right. Ah, please, before we begin- allow me to first:” he pointed at the ceiling, tapping his PADD on the desk, “Stardate 68675.11,” Hugh spoke as he fiddled with its UI, “Reclamation Project Executive Director Hugh presiding: Meeting #1 with Queen 127 from _S-4381_ in _SP-4852 Solstice,_ Deck 4, Special Containment Chamber 4 Interview Room. Starfleet and Reclamation Project personnel present, and in observed attendance. Statements begin.” 

Hugh smiled that same tight expression as before to the Queen. “In case you would like further detail, there it was. I like to declare precise events and context: for both official documentation, _and_ my patients’ sakes.”

“We had no _idea_ you had the potential to be such an efficient records keeper, Third of Five,” the Queen noted with an extra sneer. “If we had known this, you would’ve been allocated to a _much_ more fitting task for Queen 49’s backup operations.”

Hugh’s eye twitched.

 _Alright_.

“Hmm. --well,” Hugh mustered, clearing his throat and standing up, “since it’s _quite clear_ you have the _capacity_ to talk to me as a clear, cohesive, _sapient_ individual, have _heard_ my name, and instead choose _not to_ address me properly, I’m just,” he jabbed a thumb at the door and nodded, proceeding outside, “gonna. Go. Goodbye.”

And Hugh gave her a flat look with a squinting, sardonic smile and wave as he left. 

While the doors shut behind him as the Director proceeded through the de-con light, Hugh sighed as he went to rejoin the group on the other side of the mirror. “Fulfilled displeasure” was one way he could verbalize the emotion he felt crawl over his brow and worm its way into a frown; what else was he hoping to expect from her, anyway? Reaching the observation room and before Geordi or anyone had a chance to say “I’m sorry she said that,” Hugh acknowledged any consolation from the gathered group with a hand wave and eyeroll, taking a place between Geordi and Crosis to watch her.

“Could’ve bet my _entire_ cortical node she’d do that,” Hugh settled on. 

“Still _doesn’t_ make it acceptable by any means, but at least you were prepared,” Geordi offered. “So you're gonna. Leave her in there like that-?”  
“Oh,” Hugh sputtered with a ‘pfft,’ “I _absolutely_ am! She can talk to me like a mature ‘Queen’ when she’s good and ready.”   
“How long do you theorize we will be waiting, Directors?” Vorik asked.  
“Ohh, not long Commander,” Crosis mused, “Queens like their attention, after all; she’s going to get very bored, very quickly.” 

Hugh rubbed at his chin. “I’m giving her three minutes.”  
“Two.”   
“Two and a half?”  
“I do not ‘bet.’”  
“You two are on, then.”

So they waited. 

At first, she rewarded herself with a well-earned smirk, the Queen dwelling in the observation room’s silence with eyes happy and closed for a good first minute. But as the minute dragged on, her expression grew bored, ebbing towards annoyed at the two-minute marker, and Crosis gave a quiet ‘hmm’ as his bet was exceeded as the timer ticked on. 

At 30 seconds after the mark, the Queen sighed, and an extra 10 later she finally rolled her eyes with an “ _Alright, ‘DiReCtOr “HuGh!’"_ coming in over the speakers. 

And Hugh waved a finger at Geordi, Hugh delighted to hear Crosis and the Commander's chuckling at his physical humor. “Give it to him- it was closer to his guess than mine.”

Geordi shook his head as he came down from his laugh. “We were all pretty close, gotta be honest.”   
“Round 2, Director,” Crosis told him with another smack on the back, “good luck in there.”  
“Less luck, more patience.” 

Hugh headed back down the hall and the door slid open to a _very_ annoyed Queen, the Director all smirks and smiles as he re-took his seat.

“Well then,” Hugh sighed, “glad we could come to that respectful agreement.”

“You seem to put quite a lot of weight on this new name of yours.”  
“Oh, not just weight- it’s the significance, the personal importance and _control_ of your own identification. A new name can be the first step towards a new identity, you know; you _can_ just change a name, actually- it’s quite a liberating experience.”

“It is known to us that most Federation species align multiple segments of names per designation of a single unit,” the Queen told him back. “Tell us- have you picked anything else out besides just ‘Hugh’ yet?”

It took _everything_ in the Director not to give the galaxy’s hardest eyeroll.

So instead, he gave her a dreadfully flat look as the Queen wallowed in her petty little victory.

“Point being,” Hugh resumed, “that you have the chance to… re-evaluate your existence, as it currently is. You are no longer tied to the Collective- you are not subject to its infinite Hivemind. And by the Cooperation’s records, there has been no recorded instant of this phenomenon happening to a Queen.”

“None, at least,” she uttered, “that we would allow records to exist.”

A cold chill ran down Hugh’s spine.

“So, then: we’ll take _you_ as the recorded first outside of the Collective’s recorded history.”

“‘Take us,’” the Queen noted, “a notable choice of words. Is this the Cooperation’s idea of freedom? Keeping a sapient being isolated from the world we belong in by keeping us in this chamber? Sealed and locked away from a life we know? How hypocritical," she smeared, "how very ‘noble’ of you to be filling the shoes of your beloved Federation. If we didn’t know better, we’d say the Collective was just as good at assimilating its 'patients' as we were in our eternal pursuit of perfection.”

Oh, she was trying to hit all those “soft spots,” wasn’t she.

But twenty three years of Hugh having to defend his very _existence_ prepared him for this moment, sitting up a little straighter and rising to her challenge. 

“You’re going to have to get better _material_ , you know,” Hugh sighed, refolding his hands and letting a little smirk poke out of his lips. “I say the following purely on a factual level and without a hint of spite. You and I both know you _cannot_ return to the Collective: as much as you may like to, and as much as you may want to convince me, straight into your twisted little path of a guilt trip. And even if you somehow _reached_ it, the Collective would not take you back,” he reminded her rather frankly. “It would not accept a Queen that has tasted individuality and existence beyond the realm of her reign. Either that, or you _would_ be accepted,” Hugh pointed out, “and immediately subject the blinding, _overwhelming_ sensation of individuality being passed on to whatever part of the Collective your data was assimilated into. How very cruel, almost _ironic,_ it would be- a Queen to return to her lorded-over empire,” Hugh mused, “only to have her citizens wake up and retaliate against self-instilled monarchy for the wealth of singularity she dined on.”

The Queen quietly ground her teeth.  
“You call _this_ wealth.”

“I’d like to think so, yes,” Hugh pointed out, crossing his leg under the table. “Depends, of course, how you spend that personal wealth. Me, myself- I quite like to spend my individuality on… hmm: helping other xBs acclimate to singularity, learning the Earthen instrument called a ‘cello,’ researching cultures for my own enrichment, practicing physical fitness exercises, having sex,” which Hugh smirked with upon hearing Geordi’s laugh and Crosis snort over his earpiece, “ah- cooking, too; cooking’s a fun one. I make a very lovely Cioppino with Andorian clams. You, however:” the Director picked up again, “so far you’ve spent _your_ individuality on… oh, let’s see- attempting the destruction of 2,963 drones and all life in the Sphere’s immediate vicinity, attacking my staff, trying to harm a good number of _very_ patient Reclamation and Starfleet doctors who’ve stabilized your body... Individuality is best spent when supporting and enriching the community around oneself, Queen 127,” Hugh tried to tell her, “not hoarded on delusions of exceptionalism and existing behind the false claim of equal voices that you subjugate.”

“You think you are _better_ than us because you know how to prepare a sustenance you don’t even need to _consume_ to _survive?”_

“Oh, I’m not the one who said 'better,'” Hugh pointed out. “Just merely comparing how we’ve spent our time separated from the Collective. Granted, I acknowledge I have the privilege of being separated for a _far_ longer time than you’ve been, but… I think despite everything, look what happened,” he affirmed. “I think I’ve turned out quite alright.” 

“Yes, look _at_ what happened to you, Hugh,” the Queen hummed. “You speak rather boldly and proudly for the tone of a murderer.”

Alongside the earlier deadnaming, he felt _that_ was coming too.   
He heard Crosis sigh on the other side of his in-ear intercom, a very quiet _"murderer, what?"_ from Geordi _._

So Hugh, his heart weighted with the extra ache of this sudden memory, pinched the bridge of his nose and recollected his thoughts from immediate, possibly fiery rebuttal.

“The upload of my experience from the crash site to my tertiary’s Queencell was not something I could control, nor was I aware of,” Hugh explained, “and it is something the denizens of Ohniaka III are well aware of. We do not deny our own genesis, so that we may learn from the past and how to avoid further loss of life.”

“You were going to be _dealt with,_ ” she hissed now, “you and your brush with individuality. A waste of a resource, but acceptable. Queen 49 would have directed your tertiary’s functions to reabsorb you, to purge your unit and all other corrupted units for repurposing--” 

“We did not want to _die._ ” 

Hugh paused, realigning himself to balance the memories that gnawed at his subconscious. 

> _[“We will die! We will die for what you have wrought!”]_

“I sometimes wonder what she would have been like, as a person. I want to believe she deserved that chance just as much as her cube's population did. Instead, we were... left adrift to crash,” he told, “alone with the corpse of a self-immolated Queen who abandoned her units, and ourselves bearing the horrid desperation and need for purpose.”

“We are certain you were quick to dispose of her.”

“No,” Hugh corrected. “After crashing on Ohniaka III, before the influence of the Soonien android Lore, we… buried her. I remember it very dearly, in fact; it was Director Second Crosis and I’s first experienced funeral. No place feels more appropriate to process the finality of death, I suppose,” Hugh mused, “ _and_ celebrate the miracle of life, despite death’s inevitability.” 

“Mmm. You know such laborious musings are without purpose to the Collective,” she frowned. “It is much more efficient to repurpose deceased units to supplement your resources, wouldn’t you agree? Rather than to spend time with or on a body that no longer functions?”

“Efficient, yes,” Hugh allowed her, “but at what cost?”   
“This blasphemous, imperfect existence you call ‘singularity.’”

The Director sighed.

“It is… unfortunate to me,” Hugh decided on, “that you decide to spend your emotional labor on adhering to traumas of the past, instead of learning how to reconcile with what could be _now_ . With what _is,_ now, in the form of the Liberated Borg Cooperation,” he offered, “that maybe, we could both _learn_ from one another, understand how you arrived out of Species 8427’s dimension 17 years later, maybe strive to _understand_ \--”

“What more is there to know about us, Director?” The Queen asked rather plainly. “We are Borg. We are Queen 127. But we are no longer with the Collective. That is our current status.” 

“And what do you want, 127?”

“‘Want?’” she repeated.  
She sputtered a moment, before finding the words to speak again.  
“We do not ‘want to convince you’ of anything. We do not _want_. What we ‘want’ is irrelevant."

The Queen continued to ponder. "If you shall force us to follow a requested compliance: then most imperatively,” she decided on, “we want to die.”

The hand of empathy suddenly plunged straight into Hugh’s chest and grasped at his heart.

“There is no purpose for us any longer. We are without use, and any further continuation of this existence would lend itself more information to the enemy, but the Collective no longer needs us. We cannot go back without risk of infrastructural infection. We want to die because this is the most efficient outcome for the Collective. What has been lost cannot be reclaimed.”

Her face tightened.

“We want the opposite of _this._ This… lonely, pathetic, hollow existence you call ‘individuality.' What a vacuous, empty stillness it is. And if we cannot return to the Collective… then we want the opposite of this. Henceforth, and by conclusion: it is to die.”

Hugh swallowed.  
This was always the hardest part.

Most xBs, unfortunately, displayed contemplation of suicide symptoms immediately post-severance. While official Liberated Borg Cooperation mental states and conditions were still being studied en-masse in enough cases to form solid treatment methods, this was a nearly universal experience. Like a node unplugged directly from the source server, the drone is terrified, confused, perplexed, and entirely unfamiliar with this new state of existence- not to mention the additional stress of drones who are able to access memories of their pre-assimilation lives quicker than others. Hugh, himself, had no memories of a life before the Collective, as he was subjected to the maturation chambers- but for others who were assimilated later in life? Perhaps only subjected to the Borg for weeks, even mere _days?_ It was all so violently taken from them in any capacity, true; but with a wound so raw and in desperate need of treatment... 

Hugh wondered something before replying.   
_What kind of memories did a Queen even have?_

The Director gave a tight sigh. “I cannot give you that.”

“Then you are no better than the being you sit before and accuse of tyranny.”   
“You cannot make that comparison.” 

“We _can’t?!_ ” She suddenly spat, Hugh’s posture straightening at her volume. “ _You!_ The _first_ from us to depart, stand here and accuse us of a tyranny you _invented_ from your disturbance, your own _delusion_?!”

“My presence here is not an _delusion,_ my inherent cognition is not some _flaw-_ ”   
“ _Yes it is!”_ she cried again, “for what you are, for _who you are,_ yes it _is_! You were not _meant_ for this! This existence is not _natural!_ ” 

Hugh set his jaw. 

“And who is to decide what I am and am not _meant_ for, now that I and _so many others_ are outside of the Collective!? Who are you- who is outside of me, _my_ singularity- and yet _still_ claims sovereignty over me?” Hugh pressed. “Is it because you do not _want_ to think about yourself? What yourself could even _be_? Do you not want to accept your loss of control, your inability and unwillingness to accept input from those who once called you _'Queen?'_ ” 

She simply sat there, leering at him through clenched teeth and a hard swallow. 

“We tire of this talk. Grant our request and allow us to die.”  
“I cannot honor this request.”  
“Then you condemn us to a pathetic half-life of wretchedness and limbo.”

“I condemn you to nothing,” Hugh reminded her bitterly, “you imprison yourself with your prideful refusal of my people’s willingness to help you. The body apparatus is still available for you at _any_ time, and _will_ be so long as you are here. There is no intent to harm you; you are being provided for in all biochip energy, healthcare, allowed stasis chambers and simulated Queencell bodies... And, after observing you in the coming days, you would even be free to wander the station, if your performance was in a better place.” 

“Where does our performance rank now?”

Hugh narrowed his eyes with a fake smile. “Not great.”

“Mmm. Shocking. In that case,” the Queen sighed, “we spare you our audience and will lie in stasis until our request is fulfilled.”

“That… will not happen, but alright,” Hugh told her. “Again, you are free to do as you like- even if that means 'sleep.' This operation will house you and will continue to provide your life with sanctuary- not force you to remain a body not of your choosing or comfort.” 

The Queen opened her eyes some, her brow twitching in quiet thought.

“Why keep us in this condition?” she asked. “It is less efficient and requires more resources to continue powering. The apparatus is more efficient, and you could have performed this transference while we were regenerating.” 

“Yes, but… we wanted to give you that agency to choose a body. That is not something we will ever choose _for_ you. A body that does not synchronize with its individual's ideal of self could be its own form of imprisonment if you did not want it, and you… preferred something else.” 

The Queen was silent at this. 

“Preference is inefficient for the Hivemind function of the Collective.”   
“You will notice,” Hugh mused, “that weare no longer the Collective. Not anymore.”

The end of something always implied the beginning of something else.   
So with her last moment of silent reflection, the Queen ended their first interview, her face visibly going stiff and her docking apparatus resuming regeneration procedures.  
A quiet sigh from Hugh left him in silence with the inert head of the Queen. 

“Reclamation Project Director Hugh to _Solstice_ Containment Room 4 personnel. Energize Queen 127 back to the regeneration pod.”

“ _Acknowledged. Energizing in five seconds_.”

Queen 127 disappeared in the twinkle of a transporter beam, Hugh trying to think of something, _anything_ to say next.  
Of course, he realized; at least he still had a recording to finish.

“I am merely grateful she spoke to me at all.” 

Hugh swallowed.

“...Statements end. Junction Troval, end the Consultation interface of the observation room.” 

And the holo-paneling went dim, the room fading from the ambient xB lighting back into the familiar black-and-yellow stripes of a holosuite.

 _“All readings, scans, and diagnostic logs are holding steady,”_ Geordi's voice came over the earpiece. _“No outside signal interference detected; everything’s being logged into local Solstice servers and should start transferring to_ Theta _and_ Iota _soon.”_

“Good. Hopefully it will sound just as acceptable later when we start comparing the data to previous Reclamation Consultations,” Hugh admitted, reclining further back in the chair with eyes screwed shut. “I can’t yet decide if that can be called as going ‘well’ or ‘tense.’” 

_“Both, Director,”_ Geordi chimed, _“You can have both for this situation, I’d like to think.”  
_ _“The Commander is right.”  
_ “ _Agreed_.” 

Hugh heard a thermos tab pop open after Vorik spoke. 

_“Though I believe I will require more coffee to adequately begin processing this._ ”

The Director was thankful for the tired laugh that managed to ebb out of his chest. 

“Ohhh, _I_ could go for some tea.”

* * *

Due to how the rest of the day panned out, after the Queen’s inaugural Consultation, Hugh never got the chance to rendezvous with Geordi about his new engineering theory.

A petty dismay, perhaps; but one he allowed himself to skulk on in exchange for dwelling on sadder, more destructive thoughts.

After the four left _Solstice’s_ Containment Chamber deck, Hugh had to send detailed reports back to not only Ohniaka III’s sociologists, but also the Federation- Hugh having to step away multiple times from his own console to recollect himself after a particularly poignant quote or realization. 20 pages of paperwork filings, 3 mugs worth of Toucha Pu’erh tea, and a midday snack dropped off by Crosis from the replimat later, Hugh’s skin felt clammy and tangentially burdened from the lingering stress, resolving for a quick sonic shower in his _Solstice_ quarters. The healing sanitation of Regeneration Alcoves usually filled the need for such facilities non-xBs had to adhere to; showers, spas, and baths of any kind were viewed upon as luxurious self-care treats, ones that xBs could indulge in for their leisure or personal application. But Hugh always felt far more relaxed after a quick, refreshing shower, and he had a dearly-held, childish amusement at how silly his hair looked when wet.

All of a sudden, Hugh’s quarters door chimed.

Let’s see- 1800 hours, in the xB Wing of _Solstice,_ someone calling his door, who could it be?  
If this was Crosis again with another snack, he swore--

The door pinged again.  
“Ah, one moment--”

So Hugh, pulling on his socks and his sweatpants, meandered towards the door as he still papped the towel to his drying hair and face.

The door slid open as Hugh spoke, voice muffled some by the towel. “Crosis, for the last time already, I’m--” 

Hugh took the fabric down from his face and oh-- no, oh no it was actually Geordi.

Encountering anyone _else_ like this? Nothing to be socially repulsed or startled by; xBs were one in the same to each other, and xBs in general had very loose definitions of modesty. But with Geordi? It was the reaction, the _face_ the Commander made to indicate he was not merely _looking_ at Hugh, but “ogling,” “spying--” “checking him out,” Hugh could even call it! In moments only milliseconds long, Hugh’s visual UI noted each and every microexpression: the rising flush to Geordi’s face and increase in temperature, the increased blood flow and dilation of his cybernetic eyes… 

Hugh's chest was being checked out. _His_ chest: chiseled and well sculpted by regular exercise and xB regeneration blessings, was being checked out. A chest lined with silver-black rivets of metal blended with flesh, surgical scars like cracks of weathered pottery framed under his pecs and muscles where reclamation procedures had occured and exo-plating had fallen away, a few plugs and sealed ports dotting were cables once erupted from implants...

“Ah… hi, did I-” Geordi stammered, suddenly jabbing his thumb to the side, “come at a bad time, or--?”

“No,” Hugh tumbled out, “no no, I was just… preparing for my evening Regeneration- it’s been a long day, and I wanted to retire early, so--”

“Right, right, yeah. …Hugh I didn’t know, you uh,” Geordi motioned with a hand waving up and down as he cleared his throat, “do you work? Out? Or is that just- normal physique for xBs?” 

“Oh! I-- equally, regularly-- I mean, I some of both,” Hugh told him as he fiddled absently with the towel. “Regeneration keeps xBs in best-to-next physical condition, but for the past few years I’ve been studying and practicing an Earthen style of martial arts called ‘Capoeira;’ it’s quite fun and liberating, keeps me quite limber. You must be aware, ah- typical conventions of bathing are not necessary with how we regenerate,” Geordi nodding with a mumbled “right, right,” “but most xBs find a, ah, ‘calming’ sense of peace with showers. Baths. Whatever their preferred method of. Wash. ...is.”

“Really! Really, wow, and it… yeah you look. Great, a-and uh-”

Geordi squinted his eyes shut, then opened them again with a deep breath in as if to focus his vision.

“Look, I- wanted to come by and make sure you were feeling well after today’s meeting, Hugh. I was almost done with my report filings, I had to take a walk after remembering some of the things she said, and I- didn’t wanna let time get too far away from me. You have a lot more patience than most _Starfleet_ officers that I know,” Geordi pointed out, “and I can tell she tried to dig up some bad memories to use against you. ...Guess I had to-- come here myself and make sure the Executive Director was alright; would’ve felt wrong to not check in on you before we both retired.”

Geordi was here, at his door: laying compliments at his feet, checking out his chest, and looking _very_ flustered while doing the two former.

To say that Hugh was aroused would be putting it lightly.

“Those… you’re right,” he admitted, “they will always be difficult past traumas. But I wouldn’t have been able to do it today without you there. Vorik, all Starfleet personnel too, of course,” Hugh added on with a nervous gasp of a laugh, “everyone. And that support will continue to make leading her sessions easier for me. For both of us, hopefully.” 

“Being faced with something new for the first time is always the most mindblowing part,” Geordi deduced. "I get it."

Hugh swallowed.   
_Did he though?_

“Indeed. I just-- thank you again for coming to check on me, Geordi.”  
“Of course, Hugh.” 

Geordi’s lips wrapped in on themselves, seemingly rolling his eyes at what was about to leave his mouth. 

“So do you… always? Answer, the door? Without a shirt on after 6?” the Commander finally asked. “Is that a custom xBs are used to, or-- wait, if you don’t technically sleep, do you even-- have pajamas, or--”

Oh, Geordi wasn’t going to let it go? He went _back_ to the topic, even?   
So Hugh decided to throw his baser instincts a bone.

“These are _technically_ what you could call pajamas,” Hugh pointed out, “regeneration can extend to certain types of clothes, but can be rather stiff the next day. Also, Geordi,” the Director crooned, slinging the towel over one shoulder, “you _do_ realize that I was technically _naked_ the entire time I was onboard the _Enterprise-D,_ right _._ ”

Geordi’s face went through about 24 registered human emotional responses in the span of 3 seconds; opening his mouth to object, then holding his own chin, furrowing his brow and motioning his hand as the Engineer deduced and contemplated… 

“...Yeah,” Geordi conceded. “Yeah okay, I-- wow. Huh.”   
“Hadn’t thought of it like that, did you.”  
“No not really, no.”   
“Forgive me.”  
“Forgiveness de--”  
Hugh objected with a quick “ _don’t_ ” and a fingerpoint to a now-laughing Geordi. 

“Alright, you-" the Commander wrapped up, "glad to see your spirits are a little lifted, somewhat.”  
“In no small part thanks to you.” 

Hugh rued at how well his implants’ visual UI noticed Geordi’s microexpressions at checking out his chest one last time. 

“Glad I could help, Director. I have to finish my Station Manager’s Report before the night cycle’s end, but-- take care of yourself. Have a good evening, okay?”  
“You too, Geordi. Thank you.”

And as the doors shut and Geordi trotted away, he left Hugh standing there, the Director turning back around and mushing the towel _very_ hard into his _very_ red face, still _amazed_ at Geordi's _reaction_! His eye twitched as his implant’s UI brought up a ‘blood flow increase’ notification, trying to clear his thoughts as he headed back into the vanity room to wrap up his skin care and take his prescriptions.

Two minutes later, a certain pressure made bearable by his baggy pants wasn’t going away.   
Three minutes later, a familiar, static-like phenomenon clouded his neural paths.  
Three minutes, 49 seconds later, the pressure was starting to get annoying. 

And at five minutes later, the Director sighed, plapping the Cooperation commbadge on his plushly house robe's chest and lying back on his quarters’ lounge sofa. 

“Secure channel- Hugh to Crosis,” the Director sighed, “are you available, Director Second?”  
“ _Crosis to Hugh_ ,” the xB on the other lined chimed. “ _Good evening, Director! Yes, I was actually just retiring for the evening; how are you?_ ”

“Do you have any other engagements this evening? Or-- no, you just- said you were ‘retiring,’ of course, my apologies. I-” 

That was a dead giveaway right there, Hugh stumbling over his own thoughts like that. This wasn’t his or Crosis’ first times hearing each other flustered over the comm or engaging in a playful romp, so Hugh could practically _feel_ the smirk on the other end growing on the xB’s face.

_“Oh ah, could you repeat that, Hugh? Little fuzzy there, must be all that ‘Federation interference~’”_

“How would you feel about an evening of collaboration, Director Second?” Hugh huffed.

In response, Crosis scoffed. “ _Oh, with_ me, _Director? What kind of collaboration? Scientifiiic, delegatoryyy… oh, perhaps subspace warp theories! That’s it, that’s it, I know Commander La Forge was enqui--”_

“I find your company would be _pleasing,_ Director Second,” Hugh stressed, knowing full well Crosis was dragging this out for his own amusement. “Pleasing and _extremely_ appreciated.”

 _“It has been a while, hasn’t it.”  
_ “To say the least- I have been _very busy,_ Crosis--”  
 _“Ohhh, that’s the Federation’s influence, is it not? ‘Business before pleasure’ and such?”_

“This is the same species that coined the phrase ‘all work and no play make so-and-so a dull... _whatever,’_ I can’t even remember it right now-” Hugh sighed as he rubbed his temple at hearing Crosis laugh on the other end, “fine: its terms and descriptors are interchangeable. Please tell me if you’re willing or not; while _later_ I could _definitely_ be tuned to beg, I am unfortunately _not_ in the mood to do so _now_.’” 

_“I’ll be there in three minutes, Hugh. I owe you from before leaving the Capitol, anyway.”  
_ “No- I owe _you, now._ Thank you Crosis.”

The commbadge chirped off.

Three minutes.   
Alright.

Two minutes, 59 seconds to flatten the large conversation seat in the main lobby of his quarters and lay out the extra cushions and spreads.  
Two minutes, 58 seconds to make certain he had supplies on hand and privacy mode was properly pre-engaged.   
Two minutes, 57 seconds to keep his augmented heart pumping at the same, constant rate- standing up from the desk’s chair, Hugh bouncing in place while tightening his robe’s sash.

And two minutes, 56 seconds to store the emotions from today’s Consultation into a mental compartment to unpack at a much later date- before Crosis would come in, shove him up against a wall, and act on whatever pleasing thoughts crossed their beautifully singular, synchronized minds.

* * *

“Aha, ha! Ohhh, well done, Director- shit!”

Crosis was panting with a smile on his face as Director Hugh slowly pulled out, caught his breath, and crumpled beside his Director Second in absolute bliss.

Crumpled, perhaps, and 'weakly plopped over' a truly more apt description of how thoroughly wrung out he was; but Hugh was laughing in satisfied exhaustion as he felt the Director Second pap at his cheek, the same hand snaking around to rub circles in his back.

“Feel better, I hope?”  
“Yeah… hohhh, yes, I’m-- fuck--”  
“Yeah, you’re something alright; come here--” 

Hugh’s tired chuckling resumed as Crosis snatched him in a hug against his burly, fuzzy chest, the bodily heat against Hugh’s back was both a wash to his sobering senses and a healthy cooldown post-coital. True to Hugh’s imagination, Crosis hit all the points he foresaw his friend doing; just as the Director called for the room’s “enhanced privacy” functions to engage as Crosis entered, the taller man scooped the xB's face into his hands and pressed him tightly beside a window's border, Hugh’s robe falling to the floor as Crosis’ hands ran through the Director’s wet hair. Hugh felt a need to be the more active lead tonight (and Crosis more than happy to play along), though the Director Second _did_ pre-amble their evening by tugging Hugh’s sweatpants down against the wall to partially relieve him of his irritatingly-ignored pressure. By the night’s end, Hugh was spent after his last pull-out and Crosis was earnestly sore, but the two at least had the energy to send their night off in a jovial, cozy, and humor-tinged manner. A head shorter than his Director Second, Hugh instinctively balled up whenever the other xB took him in his arms like this, Crosis’ mustache nuzzling the crook of his shoulder and kissing his neck to elicit gentle sighs and slowing breathing. 

The sensation of facial hair in such a place was a type of touch, sensation, and feeling that Hugh, in all his 23 years of true existence, counted as one of his eternally-beloved favorites.

“Thereee you go,” Crosis hummed after another kiss, _“now_ how are you feeling.”  
“Oh, so much better; thank you-”   
“I should be thanking _you-_ I’m going to be sore until I reach my Regeneration Alcove.” 

“Apologies I called _today_ , of all days,” Hugh tried to offer, “but--”   
“No, I think that’s alright,” his friend assured, “it worked out- it was a good distraction. My mood was a bit dour too before you called, admittedly, so I am thankful.”

“I'm glad I could be an inadvertent 'spirits lifter.' ...Not to mention it's payback for how dour _I_ was when I found out the _Theta_ engineering staff organized a get-together and I didn’t find out until too late~”

“You were busyyy!” Crosis defended, adjusting himself as he spoke so he sat up with Hugh and leaned against the Director’s back, “and it was _just_ once _, one_ week ago- I haven’t exactly had that much free time either.” 

“Right. Bigger tasks to tend to, and all.”

Hugh allowed a silence to hang between him and Crosis, eyes shut against the orange light of the moon’s faraway sun as pieces of Crosis' augments poked against his soft skin.

“You did well today, Hugh.”  
“Thank you.”  
“I know that was hard.”  
“Mmm.”

“But I know,” Crosis chided, pausing to place another kiss in the crook of the xB’s shoulder, “that is not all you’re thinking about, my friend.” 

Hugh’s lips thinned. 

“And I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at the Commander during our stay here so far.” 

His chest tightened and a breath stopped in his throat, heavy seconds passing as words came back to Hugh’s rattled mind.

“Am I that obvious?"

“I have known you as long as I’ve existed, Hugh. Forgive me if I’ve seemed to memorize a friend’s _habits_ during that time.”

“I am… nervous. Nervous at what may be or _could_ be. I mean I… I told you everything already- can’t doubt what I saw! He looked at me tonight, looked at me _all over-_ and I _let him_ and _liked it_ ! Oh! Oh, even _all the way_ back after Atlas’ retrieval? In his office? He stopped me before I ran into someone leaving his office and the way he-- lingered there, looked so flushed, and with all this I don’t think I’m--”

“I saw the way he even held your _shoulder_ today, Director. ...You are pouring so much of yourself into this question, Hugh; do you still have enough left for yourself?” 

Hugh mashed the heel of his palm against his forehead as Crosis spoke the recent xB proverb, wanting to retreat further into the strong embrace of his friend from behind. 

“I mean I-- do you think this is wise? To just... see? Ask? I don’t want to be presumptuous, and I _know_ Geordi likes masculine features on individuals by Earthen cultural definitions- going off what I _know,_ I think I understand, but is that--”

“Oh, w _ho_ was the one tonight who asked if you ‘worked out?’ Remind me again? Hmm?”

_Right._

“Oh, yes,” Hugh mumbled, “that’s... of course, ah--”  
“That's fair, he _is_ quite handsome. Your memory just seems to fail you in your moments of flattery, Director-" 

Hugh bristled and pouted, an “Oh, you complete--” and reddening frown complimenting Crosis’ laugh as Hugh gently smacked behind himself with a cushion. “...Fine. I’ll _consider_ it.” 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so hesitant on something personal, Hugh,” Crosis chided, sighing as he sat up next to him. “What’s wrong?”  
“Oh, it’s either the fact I could be politically sinking _any_ goodwill towards me _and_ the Reclamation Project in general,” Hugh grumbled, “or I… how do I say it, what are the _words,_ where do I even--?”

“Start anywhere you want.” 

Hugh tightened his lips.  
Crosis always knew just how to bring his friend out of those spirals.

“Alright. …’Ignorant.’ ‘Childish.’ ‘Lost.’ …’Dumbstruck,’ ‘awed,’ ‘overwhelmed-, ‘completely confounded’ and ‘at a loss for words’ beholding something that… I _think_ is,” Hugh managed, “what I _suspect_ is, and I _observe the patterns_ and compare them to my own inherent knowledge, and my conclusions are-”

Hugh stopped himself, lips firm with a sigh out his nose as he held his head with one hand. 

“I will approach him. See how it goes from there. If it's just for recreation, of course- perfectly acceptable. Maybe I’m just… frustrated from not knowing, and feeling like I’m ignoring patterns to follow a lead I’m missing. If compatibility is there and proves itself to be engaging and dynamic, then I will _pursue_ this train of thought, but for now… thank you for at least allowing me to verbalize it. It is-- It’s like I know it. But I have not--”

“‘Felt it yourself,’ or ‘done it yourself?’” 

“Yes. Yes to both.”

Crosis slung his arm around Hugh’s chest, pulling the Director closer to his side and squeezing his bicep. “Does the Commander trust you?”

> _"I just... want you to know you can trust me," Geordi breathed, "all the same all the same as before."_

"Yes. He… told me so himself just the other day, actually.”  
“And you trust him.”

“Undoubtedly.” 

“Then start there. Start, like all xBs do: from your beginning.” 

Crosis allowed a silence to hang as Hugh lost himself in thought at what could be, might be, and the concept of something so vast he tried desperately to think of where to start at.

“I hope this doesn’t disturb your mood, Hugh- but… what you said about Queen 49 was very kind, by the way. I hadn’t thought about her in a long time.”   
“Not even when we first saw Queen 127?”

“No,” Crosis said as he shook his head. “No, it… she feels like a lifetime ago. I can still _remember_ everything, but it’s like watching through another person’s eyes that aren’t mine anymore.”  
“You are different now than how you used to be.”  
“Thankfully.”

Hugh nodded with a sudden lump in his throat. 

“I meant it all,” he said softly. “I meant every word I said about her. I... wish she was still here, Crosis. Just to see where we are now- that there _was_ more than succumbing to that awful place we were in.”

“You know it was not your fault she did what she did.” 

Hugh felt himself lean more against Crosis at the inference, his brow creasing upwards as they looked out the quarters’ windows. 

> _[“We will die!” screamed Queen 49, blood dribbling out of the corner of her mouth. Her eyes-- what was the word- leaking, draining, allocating liquid resour-- crying, it was crying, “We will die for what you have wrought, Third of Five!”_
> 
> _“Don’t! Do not die, please- you can’t, you_ must _not!”_
> 
> _Drones, so many voices, surrounded him in repeating “don’t-”, drones holding other drones, bringing them to the Queen for hopeful repairs-_
> 
> _“Cube 5219’s pilot schematics are still tied to Queen 49-!” Crosis said, begged--_ _he was not Crosis then,_ **as Hugh remembered,** _but Fourth of Ten, a Namesake still not had--_
> 
> _“To you, to your entry bindings-- we, not you, we as in I, us-- Cube 5219 will not respond to us, not you us- but us! Please, we can--” no, he was not them, he was Hugh!, “I can help, but_ we _can_ \-- _”_
> 
> _“What does it matter!?” she yelled, hollered, cried, sobbed, “Inefficient, your usefulness is expired to us! We are not one! You are not within us! You will not feel us! You do not feel us! You will not respond if you are not within us! You will not respon--”_
> 
> _And despite not being within her, Hugh did respond to what he saw before his eyes._
> 
> _He responded with many words, many sensations later put into words at watching the Queen’s controls drag a sizzling circuitry wire down to where her body was regenerating-- The response was immediate: sad, grief, horror, screaming- screaming in both the auditory stimuli and labeling of emotional senses- all applicable for this situation, a refusal at what she was doing as the liquid sparked before their eyes and bursts of electric, bubbling, crackling flames flung the chamber open--]_

“Hugh?”

His eyes opened after another squeeze from Crosis.

And the Director thought of the memorial on Ohniaka III for the 49th Queen- her tomb of an altar framed by the planet’s gnarled blossoming flora against the twilight sky.

“I know.”


	7. reading into things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the day-to-day life onboard Solstice and Atlas. Make sure you've been doing your readings, Commander, Director- there'll be an optional test next chapter to review what you've learned. 
> 
> Hugh makes a new, loud friend, Geordi practices another language with someone who already knows thousands of others, and everyone needs a good workout buddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. welcome to "domestic bullshit: the chapter" || two chapters at ONCE because I HAVE WORMS IN MY BRAIN (but also because I want to give folks some content who may skip a mostly NSFW chapter) || "why idris elba" those worms used to lived in the pacific rim section of my brain and then they got hungry for content so here they are || xBs more like "yearn-o-tron 5000s" || me? sneaking in references to mlm historical telenovela characters? it's more likely than you think || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

** {UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS XENOANTHROPOLOGY DATABASE 2391, UPDATED V 13.2.1.5}  
** **  
> SAPIENT SPECIES & SOCIETIES  
>NON-FEDERATION SPECIES  
> MULTI-QUADRANT  
> SELECTED: BORG | LIBERATED BORG 'COOPERATION'  
>REFINE SELECTION: LIBERATED BORG 'COOPERATION'  
> SEARCH: ‘OHNIAKA III’  
> SORTED BY: NEWEST ADDED, FED. STANDARD ALPHABETICAL ORDER   
> MOST RECENT PUBLICATION, 2390:  
  
‘ _Observations of Ohniaka III: A One-Year Liberated Borg Cooperation Societal Documentation_ ,  
As According to Starfleet Lt. Cmdr. Dr. Amadeus O’Reilly (Edited and Supervised by Reclamation Project Junction Horus)’  
**

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - SEPTEMBER 20, 2391]  
** **VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

> _**CH. 3, SCT. II - ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION 'xB' DIALECTS - LBSL/"xBSL"**  
>   
>  "[...] It is known that, regarding certain Borg drones, the infinite possibilities of assimilation-forced augmentations sometimes manifest in the form of pieces that affix themselves into/over the mouth and/or deep in the throat, rendering the drones incapable of traditional, auditory speech. I have been told by xB cyberneticists that this procedure is usually done for drones assigned by the Hivemind to technical maintenance or drone repair services, as there is no need for speech (not to mention avoiding the possibility of a drone inhaling noxious fumes during said repairs that could result in unit death; a wasted resource for the Collective’s productivity). While there are some xBs who are able to receive Reclamation Procedure surgeries to reconstruct their mouths/vocal cords and undergo speech therapy to verbally communicate once again, an equal portion of xBs are unable to, thanks to the deep physical and mental traumas of assimilation’s instinctual ignorance to mercy. _
> 
> _For both survivors and Reclamation Project Consultation personnel, these fixtures are some of the hardest augmentations for xBs to reckon with. The idea of realizing a unit had a voice in the first place, and the further extrapolation of that idea that one could either “reclaim” it, can allow an entirely different voice and rebuilding it to one’s liking, or learn to communicate in an entirely new way due to what has been taken from the individual. For patients who are salvaged from recent assimilation, the sound of hearing their own speech is a deeply stirring, soul-shaking experience after years of physical repression as treatments slowly bring out their “own voice,” not even delving further into the fact that these beings have to re-learn the basic concept of having the autonomy to verbalize their own agency separate from the Hivemind._
> 
> _Regarding patients who are unable to receive this treatment, however, they are entirely mute (by either physical causation or are simply non-verbal in their own communication), and often employ uniquely made/designed masks in their personal wardrobes. These masks (tight and worn over the lower half of the face, with some extending down the neck to cover formerly-augmented throats) are not worn out of shame of appearance or active shunning by other xBs around them for appearance, but rather a desire to adorn themselves and build upon/over traumas inflicted by old scars- much as an artist would paint over the battered stone of a fresh plaster fresco inlay ready for color. Communication is mostly done in “LBSL (“Liberated Borg Sign Language,” also known as “xBSL”) or through text displays, though LBSL is almost universally known throughout Ohniaka III thanks to the xB ease of being able to download the solidified dictionary reference completed in 2383. Attached in this chapter is the official LBSL resource provided by the Cooperation; Federation Standard Sign Language bears some similarities to this dialect, though it is imperative that future xenoanthropologists familiarize themselves with this dialect before commencing any long-term visitations to the Cooperation capitol planet. You not only pay respect to the culture you are living with and learn another way of communication with a significant portion of the population, but you also ingrain yourselves further in the celebration of individual acts of communication. Much like verbal speech for xBs, there is an anticipation in waiting to see what the other will say next as a separate entity from you, but the joy of xBs developing their own habits, traits, and "quirks" in physically signed words (ticks, unique motions, etc) is something unique to LBSL, and the celebration of individuality to xB society overall. [...]"_

“Commander La Forge?”

The hologram’s deep voice had caught Geordi off guard in his own thoughts, realizing he was watching two distant xBs probably longer than he should have from his view on the catwalk. Shaking his head as he drew his attention back to Atlas, he stuffed the grip of a relay repair torch in his mouth, picking up a panel and snapping it back into place over the exposed circuitry.

“Ruhn a diagnoshtic therhe fer me an’ shee hah tha’ connechts,” the Commander sighed, finishing up and taking the tool out of his mouth before a bone-cracking stretch, “bluh- sorry. That should connect this tertiary’s power conduction.” 

The AI mulled for a bit on Geordi’s words; most likely trying to process what, exactly, the Commander said over the garbled, tool-impeded speech.

“Certainly, Sir.” 

The hologram’s dual-colored eyes flickered for a moment, intently studying the place where Geordi had been working. While the AI’s identity and appearance were in no way set in stone, three weeks into the project Atlas had settled on both pronouns _and_ a constant rendition of himself, drawing ‘inspiration’ from his initial manifestation as Geordi and the near-infinite biological database of the Collective at his disposal. ‘Wearing’ a long-tailed Reclamation Project uniform with formal black boots, circuitry-like shoulder pads, and a manifested Cooperation Badge, Atlas bore a round face with a chiseled jaw, buzzcut, stubble, and strong chin, save for the AI’s starkly lit black and green square eyes that he had manifested in Hugh. It was a “field of vision he preferred presenting in,” Atlas had remarked: a way of holding onto his original identity as an artificial intelligence, but the presentation allowed him to “see the world through a new light,” as he so eloquently put. Voice-wise, he was getting there; vocally, he occasionally warbled words with tinges of the “Borg Interface” language, but it was less of a translatable hindrance, and more of a signature quirk. At this point, Geordi found a strange comfort in the reverb of this Hivemind-influenced language; he saw how much comfort it gave Hugh, the Junctions, and any other xB who heard Atlas’ mundane musings when not in his hologram form… and the Commander had to admit: those base-like rumbles of the information-packed “language” were rather soothing, haunting, and beautiful.

“It is operating as desired,” Atlas confirmed, nodding to Geordi, “thank you for your assistance in this field.” 

“No problem,” Geordi confirmed. “I can see why you couldn’t get it. The circuitry was melded together with a power conduit, so no wonder it was blocking your broadcast point.”   
“Mm. I will log this repair immediately for future reference.”  
“Go ahead; makes both our jobs easier in the long run.” 

Before Atlas could continue his train of thought, however, he followed Geordi’s original line of vision, the xBs still talking as one pulled out an unidentified fixture they found during repairs.

“Were you observing these personnel for a reason, Commander?"

“Uh,” Geordi cleared his throat, “yeah, I-- was watching them, admittedly; trying to see if I could tell what they were signing. I’ve been practicing xBSL on my own time, but it’s nice to see it out in use and get a tangential visual reference. Probably should just-- _approach_ them about it instead of watching them from a distance like a weirdo, admittedly, but--” 

“‘xBSL,’” the AI interrupted, “is this a language?”

“It is,” Geordi told him, “Liberated Borg Sign Language; also known as xBSL for commonality’s sake. See that, there- the one of the left: that’s the motion for ‘server,’” Geordi noted.

Atlas paused. “I do not know this sign dialect.”

“Fair you wouldn’t,” the Commander offered, “they only _just_ finalized the standardized dictionary in 2383, and you were already out of time for… what, 9 years by that point? Takes a while to iron out the kinks in a brand new civilization’s standardized sign language, it turns out.”

Atlas’ face was ponderous- a thoughtful weight wore behind the hologram’s thoughtful, eerie eyes.

“Is there a database available to download the dictionary reference?”  
“I can’t exactly stick a Federation-cut isolinear chip in you since your handiwork, but I _can_ sync it to your hologenerator’s main drivers,” Geordi told him. “Would you like that arranged?”  
“Yes,” Atlas affirmed. “I desire to add the knowledge to my library, and to learn how to further interact with or communicate with crew and staff while onboard the premises.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate that, Atlas,” Geordi affirmed, “you’re making yourself accessible in more ways than one.” 

“Elaborate.” 

Whenever this guy said “elaborate,” Geordi had to inevitably start the conversation with a cheek-puffed sigh and mental reeling of how he could _possibly_ describe the subject without going into a four-hour conversation about it.

“Well," Geordi began, "not _only_ are you learning a very important method of communication to a people you’re helping and housing,” the Commander said as he brought up some programming to review on his PADD’s UI, “but you’re _also_ connecting with them more, right? xBSL is the only way some disabled xBs can communicate, outside of electronic displays; you’re showing them respect and accessibility by learning the dialect. But I’ve gotten to know a few of the xB personnel; they see you as a sort of… ‘kin’ they’re working with- like a relative they’re just getting to know for the first time. From what I’ve been debriefed by the Executive Director, you’re the first intact Borg starship AI that the Reclamation Project has been able to interact with, right?” 

“Correct.”

“Right; even with that, it can be a _little_ intimidating when they also know that you used to be… well, kind of all _around_ the people you’re working with, and then getting to know you as as a ‘person’ rather than a ‘place.’ You still _kind_ of are, in a way, but on a much more focused scale. Speaking in a dialect that a good number of xBs use in their day-to-day life… I think that’ll help you become a little more ‘approachable,’ even ‘understanding’ of who they are and who _you_ are, how they interact with not only the world around them... and also help relate to _other_ individuals as well.” 

The hologram was quiet. “So you consider this to be an enhancement to my social likability,” Atlas concluded, “a subroutine of interaction you hypothesize to possibly influence my native programming.” 

“That’s the idea,” Geordi confirmed. Remembering how sensitive holograms could be about their natural preservation, he continued: “Is that something you _want_?”

“Paradoxically, yes. I do not wish to change my programming,” Atlas affirmed, “I know what my purpose is and what I must do for the premises. And yet... the very inference of my want and desire to download this dictionary reference infers a change in of itself. An editing of what was, once, my status quo.”

“Society doesn’t tend to progress unless you mix up the ‘status quo’ every once in a while, Atlas,” Geordi reminded him, tossing the hologram a light grin. “On an _individual_ level? Oh, buddy,” Geordi chuckled, “everybody changes. Everybody learns new things, each and every day.”

“Agreed. Even now, I am learning,” Atlas remarked.  
“Oh?”  
“Yes,” Atlas agreed. “I am learning you are a very approachable individual, Commander.” 

Geordi allowed the comment to ruffle his ego for the sake of a compliment boost.

“Oh, I try,” the Commander allowed himself to boast, "but thank you, Atlas." Tucking his PADD into his uniform’s pocket as he spoke, Geordi turned to the hologram. “Here, in fact- first xBSL lesson.” 

Atlas watched him with intrigue. 

Geordi motioned both his palms flat, two pointer fingers and thumbs crossing over one another to form a square in an empty space. His left hand suddenly made an upwards motion with all fingers drawn together in one point, rising above the larger-rendered "square" of a space. It was designed to mimic the sigil of the Liberated Borg; the smaller, individual cube leaving the larger conglomerate; still tied to its origins, but wholly its own being and person.

“This means ‘I,’ in reference to yourself- but it can also apply to referring to xBs in totality, depending on the context.”

Atlas pondered for a second… then mimicked the Commander’s signing to a near tee, looking to him for approval.

“Like this?”

Geordi nodded. “Looks good to me. I’m not the final judge by any means, though- you’re gonna have to make sure with the Executive Director or some other xB staff before we get the chance to relay the dictionary to you.” 

“Will you be able to complete this before the day cycle’s end?”  
“I’ll get you patched in before I head back,” Geordi promised, dismissing a UI notification and preparing a new request from _Theta_ , “I’m sure Hugh will be delighted to hear about your desire to learn it.” 

“‘Delight,’” Atlas repeated, “a word that as a positive connotation in emotional happiness that you associate with the Director.”  
“You could say that, yes.”   
“As much as the Director associates with you?”

Geordi’s brow raised along with a sudden emotion too vast for him to name. 

“I’ve known him for 23 years now, Atlas,” the Commander noted with a reflective grin, “‘delight’ almost feels like an understatement by this point.”

“After interfacing with him directly,” Atlas affirmed, “I would agree, Commander.” 

Geordi swallowed, swiping the implied insinuations to the side just as he did a UI window on his PADD. 

“Well,” the Commander sighed, “before we start musing on that too much- why don’t I take a break to get _Theta_ to send me the data on a compatible chip? We’ve gotten this relay fixed; might as well make use of the time and fetch it from the replimat.”

“Agreed, Commander.”

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE,"_ BARREN MOON TO CLASS L PLANET 'TAIJAL'**

> _**CH. 6, SCT. I - ON OBSERVED SEXUAL RELATIONS AND CULTURAL HABITS ON OHNIAKA III** _

Geordi La Forge eyed the section title.   
He looked to his office doors.   
The Commander looked _back_ to his office doors.   
And Geordi resumed reading the next section. 

> _"[...] xBs/”Reclaimed” are, by far, the most_ polite _culture I have encountered when approaching the topic of sexual intercourse, and are certainly the most candid. Perhaps it is due to the inherent value placed on the paradoxical ‘individual experience’ and ‘sharing the full possibility of life through a unified, yet singular existence’ as a society, but their frankness and unabashed lack of apologia for their own satisfaction of physical recreation lends sex to be a rather widely accepted and celebrated inter-personal activity of self-discovery. Theories on how individual species’ could impact xBs’ sexual compulsions notwithstanding (i.e.: a prolonged observation of Vulcan xB’s sexual drive vs. the demands of the “Pon Farr” phenomena has been recommended to the board to allot me further xenoanthropological study), they are all unified by their common physical attributes of formerly being a part of the wider Hivemind- a concept that, inherently, does not despise the idea of connection to greater sensations and an even greater conscious. It is also possible that xBs find the relation to other bodies in a sexually satisfying way a form of conquering Collective-instilled dysphoria, doubt, and perceived physical dysmorphia, as there is something rather powerful in “reclaiming” and discovering one’s own sexual identity, alignment, preference, and comfortable stewardship of their own ever-developing,_ individual, _bodies."_

The sound of a cat’s long, sweet, pathetic little meow interrupted Commander La Forge’s Ready Room reading.

Geordi looked away from his desk’s display to the CMO’s cat 8-year-old tabby Mimi, flicking her tail absently as she stared the Commander down.

“What.”  
The cat meowed again.   
“Whaaaaaaat?”   
Mimi screamed another long meow.  
“WHAaaaAAAaaaat?!” Geordi mocked with a sing-song voice. And when the cat just looked back at him and then down to the floor, distracted by something that only a cat could be, he sighed, rolling his eyes and resuming his reading as she began to approach him and the desk. 

“You’ve got lots more to say than Spot ever did, I’ll give you that.” 

Using the excuse of catsitting CMO Bartholomew’s tabby for a shift that was running longer than it was meant to, Geordi used the time to resume his xenoanthropological readings on xB culture. He _probably_ shouldn’t have been delving into the more risque portions of this publication during his shift, true, but he’d _already_ finished up his on-screen debriefing with Lieutenant Ha’arshov and had half an hour to do with as he pleased; what harm was there in a little afternoon reading? Especially reading that could extrapolate on some musings Geordi had been toying with since a week ago’s encounter with a very handsome, very strappi-- _no_ , no, don’t even get started on it, he swatted away in thought. But his mind was bored and any more work for the day was bound to give him a migraine considering his _very_ early start; so Geordi settled more into his chair and enhanced the screen, finding his place again and picking up where he left off.

> _"[...] While romantic infatuation and commitment seems to be a very lofty, precious, and apotheosis-level societal treasure among xBs, I have noticed regular physical approachings between xBs begins with a simple, cordial declaration of the other party’s attractiveness, compatibility, consent, and casual request to see if the other(s) would be interested in further activities. The most common phrases I have observed (and been told) are “I find you pleasing” and “I believe I would find you further pleasing somewhere else,” or some other incorporation of the word ‘pleasing.’ For the simple, blunt, freshly-severed Reclaimed: “you are attractive to me- would you like to have intercourse;” a verbalized chance for the initiator to declare their intentions, the opposite party to receive affirmation, and also confirm the acceptance of the invitation. Upon further reflection, it feels almost necessary to, again, state the casualty with which this exchange is had, as many discuss this as unabashedly as a human would over coffee, or as a Ferengi would over discussing updated currency rates between rivaling economies. Rejection, therefore, is not taken with personal laces of malice or ill-boding, and is rather a pleasant acknowledgment of differences between the involved parties (again, circling back to the celebration and value of individuality throughout all xB culture). Orgies are also well managed, communal activities that cooperate with pre-determined supervision by the group and recreational structure as any “sporting event;” hosted not just in the dark nor discussed only in hushed, fearful whispers, but instead held in beautiful chambers and hauntingly beautiful, brutalist suites (to my Junction assistant and I’s great amusement, discovering that some residents and a small handful of visitors to Ohniaka III, had begun sardonically nicknaming the events as ‘Borgies’). [...]"_

Geordi cackled out a laugh at this word as Mimi jumped up onto the desk with a quiet little trill, Geordi extending a hand to the cat for pets out of instinct.

He bookmarked the page, deciding he’d come back to this subject later on his own off-duty time, and began to scroll further through the chapter.

> _"[...] As is with any non-Federation aligned species, it is imperative we remember gender and gender constructs are subject to mere theory by our interpretations, and to take the terminologies of any sort of imposed gender spectrum with a figurative ‘grain of salt’ in wider reference to ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’ assignments- as to avoid locking our perceptions of other cultures’ genders into a limited frame of view. The following is a mere footnote to this Chapter's discussion of sexual relations, as compared to the wider chapter of gender discussion by Junction Horus' extrapolations on the significance of gender in xB society. Discussions relating to Reclamation Consultation, Procedures, and eventual individual internalization, and these cultural epochs' relations to gender are found in Chapter 7, Subsections I-V (with Chapter 3 is heavily edited and supervised by Junction Horus' sensitivity consultation).  
>  With my interviews and gathered observance of Cooperation/Reclaimed/xB society, there is no “dominant” or overarching “default” sexuality or gender alignment, and even gender itself is more of a personal, individual pondering rather than a societal requirement or role. While there are acknowledged and celebrated differences in classifications of sexuality and attractions towards different genders, the--"_

The bell to Geordi’s quarters chimed, and if Geordi hadn’t owned a cat before he would’ve fallen out of his chair with a very surprised cat clamoring off the desk. 

So instead, _after_ his heart skipped about 10 nervous beats, he flicked his reading back to the display’s overall library, declaring a “Come in!” to whoever it may be, and oh hello Hugh. The Director’s face, previously bearing a calm, peaceful grin, suddenly froze and went wide-eyed at the cat, who’d flopped over on the desk on top of a data PADD as she accepted Geordi’s scratches behind her ear. At first, Geordi wondered if Hugh’s expression was out of… fear? Apprehension? God, he was starting to sound like _him_ with how much he went fishing for words-- but Hugh’s face eventually cracked into the beginnings of a wonder-tinged grin, slowly approaching as he raised a finger to point at Mimi.

“That’s… not a hologram, is it?” Hugh asked, cautiously approaching Geordi as the doors shut behind him. Mimi turned her head to watch the man, giving a loud meow at the newcomer as Hugh’s excitement grew more palpable (and charming) by the moment. “Doctor Bartholomew informed me she had a cat, and this one looks very much like the pictures…”  
“You got it,” Geordi promised him, “Mimi’s not too bad to take care of. The Doctor had to stay a little longer on her shift for an amendment onto a medical log, so she asked me if I could watch her since she’s been alone all day and her quarters’ toys don’t quite fill the void. You mentioned the doctor- how did you know about her?” 

“Doctor Bartholomew was kind enough to show me photos after a patient offhandedly mentioned her,” Hugh murmured, Mimi still watching him with a cat’s instinctual intrigue. “I have admittedly been waiting for an excuse to see Mimi when it’s convenient for the CMO, but I’ve been occupied at nearly every occasion.” His hand began to reach out and, as if remembering invisible rules, stopped and looked to Geordi, in which the Engineer was all smirks at his obvious enthusiasm. 

“May I?”  
“Oh, I’m not the one to ask,” Geordi humored, nodding his head and raising his brow towards Mimi, “you gotta talk to _her_.” 

“Right, of course--” Hugh played along. Mimi, playing the part of a smaller cat who couldn’t be bothered to get up, leaned back in her “seat” as Hugh’s hand reached closer to her. She sniffed his hand for a moment, ran her whiskers over the fingertips... and Mimi, dubbing him ‘sufficient,’ tried to barter more pets out of his hand by mushing her face against his hand and showing Hugh just how, particularly, she liked to be pet. The xB had practical stars in his eyes as he felt cat’s fur for probably the first time in his life, and Geordi didn’t know what was more charming; the way Hugh’s eyes crinkled as he obviously logged a new memory, a new _sensation,_ or the way that Mimi flopped over in his hand to continue being a lazy cat that did _not_ want to get up and work for her pets.

“You’re lucky we’ve got a nice one on the station,” Geordi offered, “there’s some cats that can get real finicky and skittish with strangers.”

“Wow,” the Director could only say as his hand interacted with her more, “I just… didn’t know they could be so… soft? And there is, an ah-- I can’t quite explain it- vibration? ‘Trilling?’ It--”  
“Purring, yeah- I can feel it from here.”  
“So that’s what that is!” Hugh exclaimed as Mimi wiggled herself up to get closer. “I’d _known_ of the act, know what the word means, but- alright, yes. Very different from what I would’ve expected.”  
“She’s definitely one of the more _intense_ purrers I’ve seen.”   
“And you _would_ know… to my recollection, you had a pet cat at one point, correct?”

“She started out more as _Data’s_ cat, definitely,” Geordi humored, feeling his face begin to tinge with nostalgia at the mention of Spot. “But by the end of our rounds on the _Enterprise_ , she definitely had two dads, yeah.” 

“May I ask whatever became of her?”

“I, ah- took her after Data died,” Geordi recalled, “and she passed away about… what- five years after him? Just from old age. 17 is old, especially for a cat that led the exciting life in space like she did. Spot never minded hopping around with me from station to station, thankfully... got her ashes and collar in a little box in my storage.“

Geordi couldn’t avoid a pause to collect the words he wanted, weighted down by the memories each word seemed to carry with them. 

“Mementos are good to have around an office,” he offered, “but that’s not something I can ever really repl--”  
The Commander was caught off by a sudden “mnyeh!” as the cat squeaked out a meow, and Geordi’s was suddenly transfixed at watching Hugh and Mimi. Oh, this was just too much- Mimi had noticed where one of Hugh’s implants stuck out near the lower, outer base of his palm, proceeding to rub her cheeks and head at it like a small scratching post. Hugh’s hand, in response, was overwhelmingly gentle, elegant, and almost hypnotizing to watch as the xB cradled the cat’s head, motioning along with her little body to maximize the best scritch for her scratch.

“Well,” Hugh breathed wondrously, his voice smooth but his eyes full of adoration, “aren’t you a sweetheart.” 

And Geordi looked like a gay little deer caught in the world’s most beautiful headlights. 

“This is your first time around a cat, you said?” The Commander noted, finally coming out of his stupor. “Seems like you’re a natural already.” 

“I have a faint knowledge from the assimilation of humans,” Hugh told him, “but when interacting with other types of sentient organisms you’ve learned about from that osmosis, it’s always best to rely on your own first-hand accounts, first hand experiences; using those innate facts as reference... Knowledge without practice or personally-experienced context can be quite different, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” Geordi sighed, “yeah, I definitely would, Hugh.” 

As Geordi leaned up from his chair to watch Mimi and the Director, another, entirely different tone of memory skirted through his thoughts and into realization as he noticed something about Hugh’s hand. Mimi, after taking a particularly enthusiastic pet and hearing the shifting posture of Geordi in the chair, leapt down from the desk (much to both Geordi _and_ Hugh’s immediate chagrin), the Commander noticed something, and instinct took over.

There, it had to have been--

Mulling out a quiet “wait, wait” before Hugh pulled his hand back, he took the xB’s palm to examine what exactly Mimi was kneading her cheeks against, Geordi’s hands folding Hugh’s open hand over his own inquisitive nature. It was a 3 millimeter diameter-wide port of an old Borg-type biochip coupling, faint lines that traced over lines in Hugh’s palm and down to his wrist leading where his nanoprobe tubes slept in dormancy. The skin was made smooth by the long-gone layers of exo-plating, of course- roughened by time’s inevitable wear and tear…

_Incredible to think he had such pretty hands under all those layers._

“This was where your coupling access point used to be, huh,” Geordi mused absently, tapping some at the center of the protrusion, “knew that looked familiar.” 

“Yes,” Hugh said quietly, “yes it was. You remember.”  
“How could I not; I had _you_ watching me like a hawk as I put that energy converter in and _Worf_ holding a phaser in the cell like a cadet on their first day of simulator tag.”

“Less just in the ‘cell’ and more ‘on me,’” Hugh sighed. “Trust me, I won’t be offended if you said so.” 

Geordi knew it was true; but oh, how he wished it wasn’t, now that things were different. 

“I know, but-- it’s hard, sometimes, reckoning with that,” he felt himself admit, “knowing how scary it must’ve been for you. Here’s four guys in the brig who were afraid of one severed drone, not even offering you anything in the way of someone to talk to...” 

“I didn’t know any better at the time; you don’t have to blame yourself. And if I recall, I was provided for by a ‘nice guy at heart.’”

The Commander couldn’t resist a grin as he traced Hugh’s palm.

“Still,” Geordi sighed, “I couldn’t forgive myself for not taking you at least _once_ to Ten Forward after Guinan talked to you,” he tried to humor. “Bringing a Borg to a bar in 2367; now what would _that_ have been like… you should’ve been able to see more of that ship, Hugh; not even just Ten Forward. Observation deck, cetacean chambers, the botany greenhouses we had? …she was beautiful.” 

And that was when Geordi realized he had been tracing various parts of Hugh’s hand, palm, fingers, augments, and joints this entire time, and apparently Hugh was all too happy to let him do so. 

“It’s… the sentiment is appreciated, Geordi,” Hugh assured. “But the memories I have from my experience there remain among some of my favorites, despite the conflicted nature I have about my at-time conduct.” 

“What a coincidence,” Geordi admitted, “mine too.”  
“But I was only there for a few days-”

Geordi allowed silence to infer his insinuation, and weakened his hold on Hugh’s hand for him to do with what he would. 

There was something about the fact that he could silence an xB who so often took his time audibly searching for words.

“What are you up to for the rest of the day cycle, Director?”

“Ah… I-” Hugh mustered as he cleared his throat and slowly withdrew his hand, “I’m, ah, off to meet with _Theta_ and _Iota’s_ CMOs and Junction Troval to review the week’s medical records for reclamation procedures. After that, I will be utilizing the rec room for some exercise at about 1700 hours, I believe. And you?”  
“I have some engineering proposals to read over and edit after my on-site work findings today with Atlas,” Geordi sighed, “And here I am, taking a little break by reading even _more_ things, go figure. A trip to the rec room does sound nice though... you gonna practice your Capoeira you were talking about a while ago?” Geordi asked. “I might head by around then too; Doctor Bartholomew is picking Mimi up at 1600, I have some last-day debriefings to cover, and I’d like to do some running… not to mention I’m kinda interested to see what it looks like in person.”

“I could bring one of my hologram training SIMs and practice a couple of routines,” Hugh teased.  
“Show off.” 

“Oh, I am _good_ at it; I won’t undersell my self-made spectacle there.” 

Hugh hadn’t forgotten how he’d checked him out last week, had he, Geordi thought.   
And from the look of that smirk on his face, he certainly wasn’t going to _let_ Geordi forget it. 

“Would you mind if I joined you if work doesn’t keep me too long after Mimi’s picked up?” Geordi asked. “I know some people prefer to use the rec room by themselves, so I like to ask--” 

“You’re more than welcome to,” Hugh assured, a playful grin skirting his lips. “It will be nice to have the company. ...And audience.” 

Geordi gave Hugh a flat look as he felt his cheeks flare up, who merely laughed with that charming, clear voice of his in his office. Geordi’s head bobbed in his seat as he rolled his eyes with an “Uh-huh, okay” of a tease, shaking his head with a grin as Mimi yelled another long, impolite meow from where she was poised against a lighting alcove the door. 

“Whaaaaat, Mimi!” Geordi cried in jest, the cat flicking her tail as she stopped to stare at the two men. “What do you have to say!”

“Doctor Bartholomew wasn’t joking when she inferred her cat ‘loved to scream.’”

The two continued to look in her direction, waiting for something- anything else the cat might do. 

And as if in response to the staring, Mimi let out another long, droning meow as two chuckled, the cat suddenly flopping over and whipping the tip of her tail back and forth. 

“I’ll leave you both be,” Hugh settled, “and I’ll message your PADD once I’m settled.”  
“I’ll see you then, Director.”   
“See you.”

And Hugh whisked out of Geordi’s office, the Commander watching him leave as the doors open and shut behind him… and caught Hugh wringing the hand Geordi had touched so carefully, so thoughtfully, and so laced with memories of days, years, and decades gone by.

Mimi meowed again. 

“Whaaaaaaaat,” the Commander begged, “what is iiiiiiiit?!” 

The cat, for now, could hopefully substitute pets for wanting xB hand holds.

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE,"_   
DECK 4, RECREATIONAL ROOM 3**

> ** _> CH. 7, SCT. III - ON LIBERATED BORG/COOPERATION GENDER, SOCIAL INTERACTION, AND PERCEPTION - “PHYSICAL CONTACT” (WRITTEN BY JUNCTION HORUS, SUPERVISOR TO LT. CMR. DR. AMADEUS O’REILLY)_ **
> 
> _"[...] There is a phrase I have heard employed from human metaphor: the concept of “touch-starved,” and upon further studies of its meanings I have not found another phrase to so aptly associate xBs as a people and society. We are separate, above all else, and yet we yearn for connection; we are one in ourselves, above all else, and yet we are many- at a constant divide for individuality and cooperation between others who share our kinship and trauma. For premeditated interaction (be it physical, verbal, or emotional investment), in turn, tells us more about ourselves, and how deeply we can truly fathom being known for who we are rather than the commandments of a Collective declare us to be._
> 
> _Touch is key. Its very nature is personal intent, and it is spiced with personhood and a desire to want. Touch, to an xB, is the pinnacle in all sacredness and preciousness; in your relations with Reclaimed, if you are to touch and to interact with them on a physical level, you must pay mind that, if you are to engage, you do not refuse them of such a beautiful meal with fleeting casualness. Touch is a warmth that melts the icy cold of a Collective, sending cracks throughout its barren, unfeeling hull._
> 
> _It is a beautiful paradox- to be lost as a person in something so vast as a concept, you become that very collective experience itself. When fed in well-intended touch, xBs are not merely “no longer starved;” but they become a fire more radiant than any star by the fuel you have decided to give them._
> 
> _Our bodies are self-shaped temples with tools we built or 'reclaimed' from our oppressors, and your respects paid to or within them are what help fill it with a holy, perfect-seeming presence our indentured Hivemind so dearly sought."_

Hugh couldn’t stop holding his own hand for five minutes after leaving Geordi’s office. 

It was fine! It was fine; Geordi probably didn’t know how sensitive his people could _be_ to touch in certain conditions. He’s an engineer; he would like to see how things worked and how Hugh’s implants had evened out over the the years--

But he was substituting that memory now for the vacant rec room, opening and closing his hand to test its merit. 

Perfect. 

> _“Knew that looked familiar.”_

Hugh swallowed while approaching the UI control on the wall, uploading his Capoeira program into the _Solstice_ room’s hologram SIM to shake his head from these thoughts. It was a basic enough program, even in modeling as a blank avatar; not too high of difficulty so Hugh could resume training back on Ohniaka III, but enough to keep him in shape alongside basic weightlifting. He began with some basic stretches (until Geordi got there at least), thankful to feel the heat of pumping blood where his skin met implant. It was a relief and a release for his memories- all laced with progress, of some kind. Progress, on one hand, for his people and xBs; but what kind of progress for himself?

Hugh was three minutes into his opening stretches when Geordi came in through the rec room’s door, dressed in the same replicator-provided workout stretch pants and sans shirt. They were tight things, admittedly, but very well suited and fitted for his body, thankful for the material synthesized since it didn’t discomfort his implants. It was enough to show off his bare arms in all their silver laced, augment-brushed musculature to the contrast of the dark pants, and oh, how it showed of _Geordi’s_ arms, the slight grey of his beard and how he too was impressively fit--

“Hey there, you!” Geordi chimed, waving in the form of a wink as he took a sip from a _Starfleet_ water bottle. 

“All done for the day?” 

“Finally,” the Commander sighed as he placed his goods down on a bench, “helps that Vorik has always been really good and not overly complicated at filing reports. He's straight, to the point- tells me _exactly_ what he needs. That’s a Vulcan for a sub-Commander for you; all immediate science on how to treat a problem with logic, no immediate room for big theories from engineers or scientists.” 

“Does this come from experience?”  
  
“Not especially; but when you're a Vulcan who cut his teeth on surviving seven years with a crew in far-flung space, you have to have your act together at least _sometimes._ But first, now,” Geordi clapped, then pointed his folded hands at the sparring platform Hugh was mirroring the hologram on, “I want to see _this._ ” 

Hugh smirked alongside an eye roll. “Keeping me to that ‘self-made spectacle’ promise, I see _.”_

“The only spectacle you’re giving anyone is to me!” Geordi humored him, “and you’ve got a captive audience because I need to actually work out. What you’re doing there looks like some pretty nice opening stretches, though...”

“They are, actually; no strict ‘combat’ yet, either; I try to build up to that.”  
“Good for other things too?”   
“Mmm, I’d say so,” Hugh breathed, holding one leg out as the light spilled in from _Solstice’s_ horizon windows. “I do them before weightlifting, too.”

“Show me, then.”

Hugh’s eyes opened to Geordi hopping up to his level on the platform, the man tightening his own gloves and giving his hands a flex. 

“What?”  
“If you’re alright with that,” Geordi added. “Unless they’re your secret technique or something.” 

So Hugh pulled himself out of where he was at in a stretch, taking in a breath to try and puff himself up. “Of course,” the xB assured, “I’d be happy to.” 

So he tried to plant his feet firmly opposite to Geordi, acting as the mirror where the SIM had been dismissed. “Relax your shoulders,” Hugh offered, “and tighten your midsection.”

No.   
Geordi tried to imitate him; he was doing a good job, but he could-- 

“Kind of. Just,” Hugh motioned his shoulders and rolled them back, “loosen.” 

Geordi concentrated, it looked like- but there was something still off, that--

“Hmm… almost there, but-”  
“This?”   
“No, you’re--” 

Hugh’s hand motioned, failing to place a point of emphasis in its motions, so instead his other hand splayed out in offering. “Mind if I show you?”

“Not at all.” 

_Alright_. 

And as Hugh walked towards the Commander, 5,628 microcalculations took place in how he could approach this situation, how Geordi was reacting, his physical stimulus… 

And the best conclusion that the Director could arrive at was that it was _his_ turn, since Geordi had done it _first_.

So, taking position behind Geordi, Hugh placed his hand on the Commander’s chest, pressing in just the slightest to straighten the other man’s spine.   
It was hot, hard, pumping with a strong heart behind flesh and bone, and wonderfully firm to the touch.

“Chest inward. ...Good. Keep it like that.”

Rounding him another 90 degrees, Hugh followed his shoulder, pressing down lightly. 

“Balance.” 

Hugh was practically tracing him at this point. Rounding him now 180 degrees, hand gliding over Geordi’s upper arm, chest, throat- and Hugh lost himself in the fluidity of his own motions, meandered past his front and meeting near that outstretched hand, Hugh had realized he’d allowed his hand to pull at Geordi’s jawline- fingertips ghosting his line of sight to meet the xB’s stare.

“P-posture…” 

xBs had captivating stares, it was known.   
But it was rare when an xB found themselves completely, utterly lost and overwhelmed by the sight in return- just as much as the other.  
Hugh’s fingertips, now under Geordi’s beard, shifted to have his thumb touch the Commander’s chin.

Geordi did not refuse it. 

“Like this?”

In fact, the corners of Geordi’s lips tugged upward after he spoke, and Hugh found himself lost even further in the other man’s gaze. 

“Yes,” the xB murmured. “Extraordinary, Geordi.”

Hugh’s jaw shuddered before he spoke again.  
And the infinite immensity of implication was strewn out before him. 

“I find it ‘pleasing,’ even.” 

And thankful that Geordi had no context for that sentence beyond a beautifully-true descriptor, Hugh’s hand motioned back to his side, reveling in the last moments of this soon-to-be-memory… But Hugh watched Geordi’s eyes widen even more, and a flicker of self-doubt harangued the Director’s gut. 

> _[Was that wrong?]  
> _ _[Was that too much?]_

No. In fact, Geordi looked even _more_ excited. 

_How, what--_

“Well. If _that’s_ true,” Geordi crooned, retaking his stance as he nodded and rolled his tongue against his cheek, “I don’t imagine you’d be too opposed in showing me how the rest of the form is done, right?” 

Hugh’s mouth was dry as he tried to slow his breathing, blinking once or twice to regain his composure.

“Hardly opposed at all. Excited, even. Now,” he resumed, standing up straighter and curling his hand under his abdominals, “chest and core. You want an anchor for when you block…” 

The next half hour seemed to fly by for the two, and the entire time it felt like neurons firing as fast as light itself. Geordi was an incredibly good student, and the man seemed all too excited to learn. Hugh was thankful, admittedly, to have someone to spar with, for it reminded him of some of the core principles he ought to pay more mind to. Geordi eventually _did_ make it to the elliptical and watched Hugh give one small sparring session with the SIM, but the rest of the time there was an unspoken presence lingering there. A weight that felt more comforting the more it pressed down. A mutual, unspoken weight traded in little glances and pinches of smiles that crooked the other’s lips. The two parted ways as Hugh had to clean his implant sites from his own labors, and not a minute before he hopped in his sonic shower, a notification for a received message lit up his main PADD’s screen. 

It was in his Starfleet channel.  
He opened it.  
Personal, non-duty related conversations.

CMR Geordi La Forge. 

> **> May I request your presence in my quarters? 2200 hours.**

Hugh’s hands froze in a stupor and he could only stare at the screen for an unknown while. 

What time was it, then? What did the chronometer say, 1804?  
A mixture of… what was it- dread? Anticipation? Need? Filled his gut, his hands typing out a message before Hugh’s fears could catch up with him.

> **> Do you wish to wait that long if you’re going to request my presence? I am currently unoccupied.**

A pause.   
The typing indicator appeared on screen.

> **> 1900.  
> ** **> I will be available and will proceed there by 1900 hours. Thank you, Commander.  
> ** **> Thank you, Director. **

What was he doing, what was _Geordi_ doing- did they _both_ really know what they were even doing?!

One thing he _did_ know, Hugh sighed as he mushed his hands into the sides of his head to grip his hair, is that he was going to make the most out of his time with his extremely attractive big fancy strong smart and sexy Commander.

Hugh groaned at the immensity of it all, making his way towards the sonic shower to freshen up. 

Individuality could be an ache of a burden; and currently, it was in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAAHHAEHEHHEHYHEEYYYYY extremely cool art near the end by the very amazing @smoothandroid on twitter and tumblr :] please check out his stuff (and enjoy) https://twitter.com/smoothandroid/status/1358497635930374150?s=20


	8. pleasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I believe I would find you further pleasing somewhere else," the Commander says to the Director.  
> And the Commander is not exactly alone in his sentiments.
> 
> 18+ readings, yeehaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. welcome to the spice zone™ || this chapter is optional by design, if you're not down for fuckin' around in space (literally) you can skip this chapter, hope you liked the double whammy update!!! || i might do one more detailed sex scene but this is about the limit of what i currently have the drive to do || in case it wasn't clear enough from my last fic/this fic's ENTIRE insinuations hugh (and crosis) is a gay trans man in this fic. i'd like to Assume that in the future where we're able to make people into fully-imitated klingons down to a fucking tricorder-scanning tee for one-off episode disguises then trans men and/or trans masc people can get their own dicks or whatever they'd like and if you're not 🆗 with that then Goodbye :) || one segment near the end inspired by a friend's amazing laborg art please check out his stuff https://twitter.com/mycorob/status/1282333096201920513?s=20 || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

Exactly three seconds after the chronometer hit 1900 hours, the bell to Geordi La Forge’s door chimed. 

He had everything ready, right? The Commander’s thumb brushed at his chin from the fresh, quick shave as he sat at his desk- he counted the supplies he had in his bedroom, all proper protocol in place and his playlist organized-- 

God, he had a damn _playlist_ for something he wasn’t even sure he was going to-- no. No, he refuted that mindset immediately; there was no _way_ Hugh wasn’t on the same wavelength. All his deductions, calculations- everything pointed him in this direction, it--

Oh.  
Hugh was still at the door.  
Already doing great, La Forge. 

“Come!” 

And the xB, dressed in his typical Reclamation Project uniform, made his way inside- hands folded behind his back- looking handsome as ever while some passages wafted through Geordi's mind.

> _"Our bodies are self-shaped temples with tools we built or 'reclaimed' from our oppressors, and your respects paid to or within them are what help fill it with a holy, perfect-seeming presence our indentured Hivemind so dearly sought."_

And the Commander had a lot of respect to pay tonight.

“Geordi-!” Hugh offered brightly as the doors slid shut, “to what do I owe the pleasure of answering your summons tonight.”

“Hugh! Thanks for coming- I know it’s kinda late, but I,” Geordi cleared his throat, swallowing a bundle of nerves, “I _,_ had to get everything wrapped _up_ , refreshed, but I wanted to tell you something regarding myself. Ask _you_ something, too, that'll have to do with what I have to say, but I didn’t want to let time get too far away from us, right?”

“Yes, certainly,” Hugh pressed, slowly stepping closer to the desk. “What, ah… what about?”

“Well Hugh, I ah…” 

Whether it be the pressure from both the situation or the physical restraint he was already feeling build in his uniform trousers, the Commander’s suave tongue suddenly left him and tripped over itself in absence.

“I, uh… ha, um-"

Hugh licked his lips, the shit; did he _know_ how good that looked?

Of course he did; those implants probably already noticed how through-the-roof Geordi’s heart rate was... 

“Yes, Geordi?” 

The Commander swallowed, his eyes rolling and sitting up straighter to grasp and hold down his own confidence as Geordi held his chin.

“‘I find you ‘pleasing,’’ Director Hugh,” Geordi finally spat out. “...And I suspect you may find me pleasing as well.” 

And Geordi’s heart grew three times its size as he watched Hugh’s eyes widen and his face light up as bright as a red star.

Oh, Hugh was _very_ charming to watch while flustered; Hugh licking his lips devolved into biting the lower, the Director’s hands folding together as they typically did (albeit his thumb rubbing circles into the divot of his wrist). Geordi allowed himself a smirk as Hugh reconnected a stare- his wonderfully beautiful, _captivating_ stare- and Hugh returned the expression with his own sheepish, excited grin. 

“S-so that’s why you- in the rec room--”

“Mhm.” 

Hugh’s grin continued to shift, squirm, and eventually settle into cautious enthrallment.

“I ah… see you have _continued_ your readings on us,” the xB humored as he meandered closer to stand before Geordi’s desk. “Normally I would find myself on a _much_ more casual reciprocation to this conversation, but I suppose I want to make sure, that-- a-and considering our-”

“I can’t take it anymore, Hugh.”

The xB looked to him with resigned, heavy eyes.

“Neither can I, Geordi.”

Hugh, trying to avoid growing more flustered by the second, picked up conversation again. “You’re certain this would be alright,” he asked, “Reclaimed do not force the same moral jurisdiction upon recreational activities between officers as much as other subcultures of Federation species do. I would not incriminate you on any sort of administrative reports, blame anything or use--”

“Hugh, I worked on the _Enterprise-D,_ of all places, _”_ Geordi assured, standing up and rounding the desk just to lean against its front, “the _stories_ I could tell you of how ‘active’ that ship was... But you have my word and honor as a Starfleet officer for respecting casual intercourse. And my honor, just as... Well, me- I wouldn’t do that to you, in general- that’s… no. Never.” 

“Of course; I trust you to be above such ill-intended manipulation.”

“As long as _you’re_ alright with this.”  
“Oh, I _very_ much am, Commander.”  
“Right-” Geordi sighed with relief, “glad we got that mutual attraction out in the open.”  
“Agreed. If I need to make it more plain: you are extremely attractive, Commander.”  
“And you are definitely one to talk, Director.” 

The two stood in amiable silence, most of Geordi’s apprehensive nerves dissipating with the confirmation of mutual attraction- and replaced, instead, by nerves of both excitement and a newly-permissed horniness suddenly bubbling to the surface.

“You don’t have anywhere else to be tonight, do you Director?”  
“Nowhere at all. And you, Commander?”  
“Schedule’s all clear.”

Geordi and Hugh smirked at each other. 

“Well, then. Computer, engage enhanced privacy mode,” Geordi called out to a computer’s trill in reply. “And _you,_ ” he spoke to Hugh in a much quieter, smoother voice; pointing a finger and then setting his hand back on the desk, “call me ‘Commander’ again.” 

“Only if _you_ call _me ‘_ Director’--” 

It was Hugh who took the step forward to cup Geordi’s face and initiate the first deep, famished kiss, and Geordi discovered that he very much liked kissing his xB friend. 

It lasted for a while, as if Hugh was memorizing Geordi’s features and committing them to memory in the palm of his hand. Geordi, meanwhile, took the opportunity to finally see what running his hands through Hugh’s hair was like, and it was soft- delicate like falling leaves, Geordi’s fingertips feeling old scars under Hugh’s hair left over from cranial exo-plating. To his core, Geordi was an engineer, a mechanic at heart that worked with his hands if it meant he could figure out how something worked- and as their initial tests of kisses ended, Geordi wanted to find himself back on Hugh’s lips already to _continue_ figuring out how he worked.

“Good, Commander?”   
“Very good, Director.”

And both met each other with silent, giddy expressions- as if to silently say ‘23 years later, and look where we are now’.  
Or, maybe, that’s just where _his_ thoughts went.

Geordi decided that, this time, _he_ would be the one to start a kiss; motioning in and lips meeting the other’s, Geordi’s hand readjusted from the back of Hugh’s head to allow his thumb to brush against the xB’s facial implants. Hugh’s breath was more audible at the touch, and Geordi was surprised at just how _rigid_ they were, how _stiff-_ rather than movable or pliable like the rest of his face. Considering the implants were built straight into his skull, this shouldn’t have come as too much of a shock; but as the memory of Hugh initially pulling his eyepiece off and casually handing it to Geordi flit by his thoughts, the Commander mentally pulled back from absent-minded kisses to the sudden awareness of feeling Hugh’s lips move from his mouth, to his cheek, his throat-

Geordi suddenly realized how far he was leaning back on his desk, his free hand supporting this back, and Hugh’s own fingertips eager to peek under Geordi’s uniform blouse.

“Extraordinary,” Hugh whispered, “I find myself already lost in your realm of your making, Commander.”

Geordi grinned, his fingers already back in Hugh’s hair. “You really _do_ have a pretty little tongue, huh-”

“Such high praises-” Hugh stole another kiss from Geordi’s neck, the Commander surprised by the sudden gasp that left his own throat. “‘A pretty little tongue,’ mm? I quite like that, that’s very kind of you-” 

“Wish you’d use it on me, you know-” 

Hugh gave a breathy chuckle as he licked his lips, breaking his last kiss with a knee-nudge to Geordi’s groin. “I think I can help with that,” Hugh assured him as he stood up straight, and oh, fuck, the broken sigh Geordi felt escape from him at the edge to the pressure as the xB teased. “Oh, you’re quite burdened, Commander- may I assist you with that, too?”

“Bed first,” Geordi sighed, eyes fluttering as he mashed the heel of his hand to his forehead, “bed; I’m gonna lose it already if I can’t get somewhere to lie down first--”

“Mmm- agreed. Maybe I was wrong,” Hugh huffed and practically bounced in place, waiting to follow Geordi towards his bedroom, “maybe I _should_ order a bed from the replimat for my quarters aboard _Solstice_.”

“And I don’t imagine you to have one on the Juggernaut, either,” Geordi mused, beginning to undo the zipper to his uniform’s turtleneck as he trot in front of Hugh.

“Less of a bed and more of a ‘large couch that can also recline.’ That one in my quarters? Not just a couch, as you call it.”

“Makes sense, considering you don’t especially need a bed in the first place.”

“Exactly,” Hugh agreed, his voice muffled by the uniform coming up and off over his head as he followed Geordi, “furniture is purely for comfort’s sake rather than a requirement for rest or rejuvenation.” 

And as the door shut and Geordi tossed his shirt towards the endtable while they walked, the Commander heel-turned where a shirtless Hugh met him in the middle for another kiss. It was far deeper this time, far more infused with excited anticipation, and mutual understanding of their mutual want, Geordi scooping the xB into his arms and channeling all his need for touch communication. There was the extra thrill, too, of his bare chest being pressed against Hugh’s: all its musculature, the heat of skin rivaling sturdy bumps, and smooth sections of augmentations complimenting his firm body. Hugh’s lips crumpled in a broken sigh at Geordi nudging Hugh’s crotch with a grind, lending himself further pressure and arousal-

“ _That’s’_ for earlier, Director,” Geordi teased, smiling directly into Hugh’s cheek. “And yes because I can tell you want me to say it: your chest is _very_ hot, by the way.”  
“Thank you- technically helped make it myself~.”   
“You own it very well.”  
“Well, in _return_ , I’m going to be a spoilsport and take everything _off_ now,” Hugh noted, “no thanks you _you.”_  
“Oh no, please, we can have fun any other time; for now I’ve been _very_ pent up, and my _very_ hot and _very_ wonderful station co-manager is _not_ making it any easier .”  
“You too, then!” Hugh laughed, finally fumbling his way out of their embrace and fiddling with his trousers.  
“It doesn’t help it’s been a while since I’ve been _with_ anyone,” Geordi sighed in admittance, “ I was thinking about it earlier, I-- Hold on, before I forget- computer: lights 15%, music at 20,” Geordi called out. “Alright… like I was saying- replicator libraries for different items in the meantime are nice, at least. You?” 

“Ah, I attended a rather _lavish_ gathering the night before I left and have had occasional recreation here,” Hugh noted, “so not _too_ long.”

“Wait- ‘ _Solstice’_ here, you mean?” Geordi exclaimed, “Who--?!” 

“I’ll give you _two_ hints; he’s a head taller than us, and you and he have some of the _best_ mustaches on this station.”

_Crosis?!_

God, it was fucking Picard and Riker all over again; all Hugh needed to do was just be bald again _\--_!

Hugh simply laughed as he watched what must have been Geordi’s gobsmacked facial expression, the Commander admittedly _very_ captivated by that imagination, and having to _immediately_ tamp down the curiosity of whether or not the Director Second would _also_ find him ‘pleasing’.

Geordi had just kicked off his uniform shoes and socks and was about to undo the clasp to his trousers, when he looked up to Hugh who was already down to shimmying his pants down. The Commander didn’t know what he was expecting from a fully-naked Hugh, but it was certainly captivating to see Hugh naked _not_ on a technicality, and _not_ on the _Enterprise-D._ While he'd already seen the top half, Geordi’s eyes scanned over strong glutes painted with ripples of augmentations, Reclamation surgery scars that dashed his groin following dark wiry hair; all leading to a wonderful looking, humanoid dick that was halfway to hard and had Geordi’s full attention.

His mouth, suddenly, got very wet, very fast. 

“Wow,! Hugh,!” Geordi sputtered, eyes bright as stars looking at Hugh, “that’s-- cool--!”

“I have no one to thank but the fine affirmation surgeons that graced the Reclamation Project’s infancy,” Hugh said quickly. “After consultations presented me the options I could have and stimulate my body with repairative construction and continued treatment once abdominal plating was removed,” he kicked off the last of his pants, “this seemed to feel the most ‘appropriate’ for who I am, what I wanted, all that-”

The Director’s line of sight went back up towards Geordi, eyes wide and blush ramping up again, the xB approaching him with that unrelenting stare. “Oh, don’t you stop now,” Hugh told him in a sigh as Geordi’s hands fumbled to push his pants down already, “this is wonderful, Commander, I’d very much like to see the whole picture-”

“Oh, _forgive_ me Director,” Geordi chuckled, “I got a _little_ distracted by a _very handsome_ xB standing across from me _.”_

Finally, with pants fully off and fully nude in the bedroom, Geordi stood up straighter and his arms laced around Hugh’s neck, his own moderately strong chest thudding with excitement. “Anything in particular you’d like me to avoid?” The Commander asked, “things to not do?”

“Ah-- no pain or ‘harder teasing’ if you would along my spine, please,” he asked. “Gentle sensations, ghosting, that’s all fine and _welcome_ , in fact: but I’m still… what’s the word- ‘sensitive?’ ‘Bristly’ since my encounter?” I’m, sure you understand,” Hugh tried to shrug off. 

“Of course I do.”  
“And anything for you?” 

“Mmm-” Geordi’s hand went to tap his temple, “nothing too hard around here, on either side. My ocular implants are stable, but there’s a bit of pressure left over from when I wore my VISOR; if you’re gonna sit, just don’t squeeze me too tight with those big strong thighs of yours. Other than that- it’s all up for grabs.~”

“Even _this?”_ Hugh crooned, drifting in more to lean against Geordi’s pecs as his hands found (and squeezed!) the Commander's wonderful ass, cackling at the xB’s playfulness. 

“Oh, you’re cute,” the Commander laughed, “and have made me _very_ thirsty. Get on there, lemme get a good look at you-”

While Geordi fumbled in the endtable’s drawer to reach for the lube and protection he had made in his quarters replicator, he heard Hugh rustling against the bed to do as asked, truly making himself quite comfy on the Commander’s bed. 

“I have to know,” Hugh hummed, the hand once over his knee going to temporarily entertain his patiently-waiting dick, “who taught you that, anyway.” 

“‘That?’ That what?” Geordi teased, “I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about, Director.~”  
“Oh, you’re just going to _pretend_ that acknowledging the equivalent of my people’s come-on in _two_ conversations just _happened_ to be coincidental? That’s just cruel, Commander.” 

“Ohhhh! Oh, that’s right- how could I forget!” Geordi cried, with a splayed palm to the forehead. “As much as I’d _love_ to tell you I picked it up from seducing a _very_ alluring, _very_ sexy xB Director,” he hummed, twisting back on the bed to roll closer to Hugh’s side, “it’s simpler than you’d think. Like you said- I’ve been doing my reading.”

“And are you _liking_ what you’re reading?”Hugh murmured, his hand motioning to rest on Geordi’s back.

“Very much so,” he hummed back before leaning on his elbow to kiss Hugh’s throat, “tell me about those ‘lavish gatherings’ on Ohniaka III, Hugh-”

“Oh, Geordi,” Hugh gasped, “...oh, where would I even start.”

Geordi’s lips curled into a smile against an implant. 

_Cute_.

“Suck me if you’re so thirsty,” Hugh asked from underneath him, hands ghosting dangerously low on Geordi’s hips, “and I’d be delighted if you let me sit on that. Deal?” 

“Deal,” the Commander hummed, “you’re already making me so excited, but I’ll hold it all just for you, honey-”

Geordi stole a moan of a sigh from Hugh with a kiss, smirking against the xB when he realized that _may_ have been the first time anyone ever called him that diminutive. 

“Like I said,” Geordi whispered, “it’s the least I could do in return.”

The Commander kissed an implant port halfway down, ran his nose along the rivets and of his abs and slivers of scars from pecs to ribs. His hands slid down the xB’s hips, sides of his ass, and slunk to grip Hugh’s thighs as Geordi’s beard finally met wiry pubes and tender flesh. 

“I like the way you say a certain word, Hugh,” the Commander sighed, continuing his kisses till he felt the faint, tender skin of his tip, “‘extraordinary.’”

All he heard in reply was a broken, excited moan from the back of Hugh’s throat, the Director’s forearm over his eyes and his friend’s mouth already hanging open.

But _‘friend_ ,’ suddenly, sounded and felt so cheap. 

And before Geordi would linger too long on the musings, the _implications_ of what else he could say or call him instead, he kissed the top of Hugh’s shaft, then again, deeper, and deeper- until he lost himself in the sound of Hugh’s panting with the taste, feel, and hardness of the xB. 

It was the first time the Commander could ever recall hearing Hugh ever saying ‘fuck.’

* * *

“Augh, Hughhh, I feel so much betterrr!” Geordi whined, Hugh laughing as the Commander walked back towards the bed with two water cups in his hands. “Oh, I’m gonna be _sore_ in the morning but I’m gonna love _every second_ of it-”

“ _You’re_ going to be sore- look at me! Shall I order you a regeneration alcove, then?” the xB humored. “You’ll feel great come 0800 hours _and_ be able to catalog each and every second of all this.”  
“Only if I can _lie_ _down_ in it while it’s activated- between that and the rec room, you put my hips and abs to _work_ today.”  
“I take that as a compliment; because I certainly have nothing else to give you.”  
“Happily given and received, then~.”

“Speaking of Regeneration Alcoves- I was reading about what they do on a physical, biochemical level- but when you're in stasis, do you just stand in that and get an instant replay of the day's events as you’re rejuvenating?” Geordi asked. “You’re right, maybe I _do_ need one of those, then--” 

“Similar,” Hugh sighed as he took the water from Geordi and sat up, the Director swishing some in his mouth before continuing. “Mm. Our implants’ original functions were meant to collect and download significant data in the most efficient way possible, right? Regeneration acts as a sort of… review, a time of evaluating what was or _wasn’t_ that important to our overall ‘data collection experience’ when ‘deployed from our alcoves’ for ‘usefulness.’ It helps sift through the mental noise, sometimes; now that we don’t have to _sacrifice_ that information to the Collective or be given information we have no control over, it just- stays with us,” Hugh mused, “it allows us to ponder, subconsciously, on ourselves, all while getting a good rest’s worth in.”

Geordi had begun to get comfy on the bed Hugh explained himself, taking a long drink. “Sounds quite peaceful, if it’s a good day.”

“It is a welcome silence from the rest of the world, sometimes. xBs manage to live and survive without billions of voices in our heads, so the mere _feat_ of being able to enjoy silence in the flow of data is a... soothing balm, I guess you could say.” 

The Commander knocked his uniform off the endtable in favor of putting the now-empty water glass in its place, Geordi coming up to lean lean against Hugh’s back. The xB seemed to like it- Hugh gave a soft sigh before allowing Geordi to mold against him, Geordi unable to hold back a smirk skirting the edge of Hugh’s hair and taking in his scent.

“I had fun tonight,” Hugh spoke first.

“Me too. A lot of it.” 

The two allowed a pause to allude the night's actions.

“I’d like to do this again,” Hugh tested, turning his head while nibbling his lip. “Make it regular, if you’d be willing.” 

“Very much so. Thank you for the invitation and coming here in the first place.”

“Of course.”

Hugh reached for Geordi’s hand, pulling it down as the Director fiddled with his palms.

“You are the first non-xB I’ve had sex with, you know.”

“I’m humbled you trust me like that,” Geordi’s heart told him. “Is it- you just haven’t had the chance to? Or something else?” 

The Commander paused, his chest filling with dread that he may have overstepped somewhere. “If that’s too personal, I apologize; you don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.” 

“No no, I brought it up,” Hugh assured him, squeezing Geordi’s hand, “and it feels… ‘affirming?’ ‘Strengthening’ to verbalize? It’s complicated, that’s all. When you are from a people who are so… _used_ to the idea of us having to craft our own images, you get used to the insular nature of that community. You get used to the scars, the modifications- the augmentations and the shared…” Hugh pinched his hand as if to try and pluck words from the air, then nodded with a sigh, “commonality. Not the fanciest word, but it’s true; the shared _commonality_ of having to fight and wade through our own uncertainty to live as fully and as wholly as we can. Of having to defend your very _existence_ against a galaxy that doesn’t understand you and would rather think you as ‘nonexistent’ or a random, recent anomaly, rather than think of or give you a chance as… a complex being, once someone is separated from the Collective. A being with... _intent, emotion, uniqueness,_ full of potential to become beautiful individuals in their own right… but it’s easier to just assume us as broken. Unable to be understood in our self-made repairs.”

> _"[...] It is also possible that xBs find the relation to other bodies in a sexually satisfying way a form of conquering Collective-instilled dysphoria, doubt, and perceived physical dysmorphia, as there is something rather powerful in “reclaiming” and discovering one’s own sexual identity, alignment, preference, and comfortable stewardship of their own ever-developing,_ individual, _bodies."_

“'Broken?' Oh, quite the opposite, I’m finding,” Geordi assured him, “your people are vast. Linked by this one common thing spread across so many different peoples, histories, and places, each one of you becoming someone new. And for coming out of a Hivemind that tried to make you all one in the same,” the Commander said, “that’s not bad at all. You’ve been around for 23 years, and for what you’ve all done in that time? Who cares if it’s insular to others,” Geordi told him with a kiss, “you built it. You fortified it. Made it your own space. And that’s something they can’t take from you.”

Hugh smiled. 

“I suppose so.”

Geordi rested his cheek again the metal beginnings of Hugh's spine as he tried to find words.

“Well," he declared, "To hell with people who don’t understand you. Next time I come to Ohniaka III, I am _going_ to one of those ‘get togethers,’” Geordi pointed with a finger poking Hugh’s shoulder, to which the Director laughed in response.

“You have to go to the right ones,” Hugh noted, watching Geordi set aside his empty water glass. “I mean they’re all run fairly and up to adequate standards, of course, but there’s some where the rooms are quite striking. Add on possible holosuite enhancements? Wonderful. Oh and, ah, _thank_ you for not saying--”

“What.”

Hugh paused. “Don’t-”

Geordi set his chin on Hugh’s shoulder,“Don’t what~?”

“Do _not,_ please don’t tell me you’ve _\--”_

“Oh hmm, whatever could I call them Director, uhhhh _‘Borgies’!?~”_

“Stooop!” Hugh laughed as Geordi snatched him tighter from behind in a wicked little laugh. The Commander’s arms draped around Hugh again and his hands interlocked, legs folding the xB into his lap further. “I hate you, nevermind- I’m leaving this station and never coming back.”

“Damn it, not yet- you’ll leave us with _all this work_ and I’ll _miss_ you~”

"Mhm, sure."

A gnawing feeling told Geordi that second part wasn’t just playful exaggeration. 

Hugh spoke again- rather, opened his mouth, had a false start, and tried to resume.  
“If…”

“Hm?”

Geordi heard Hugh take in a quiet little breath.

“Say if- when we _did_ keep meeting. Continue this. And it… if it turned to something deeper,” Hugh murmured, “on either of our ends, you… would you be opposed to that?”

Geordi scooped Hugh’s hands up to hold them again, comfort washing over him as that light squeeze was reciprocated.

“Not at all, Hugh. You’re one of the few people I’d trust with that, I think. But…if it did,” Geordi asked, “just give me time. Give me time to name this.”

“Me too. I am still-- learning. I find that I still am every day.”

“You’re not the only one.” 

And the unnameable vastness he had only known since Data sprawled out before him; Geordi, suspected that, for the first time in a long time, he may not be the only one who could see this chasm of a heartache.

“What time is it, anyway?”  
“2236,” Geordi yawned, eyes having just glanced over to the room's UI panel. “Can I walk you back to your quarters?”  
“So polite, you Starfleet officers.”   
“I’ve been to my fair share of political summits,” the Commander crooned, “it’s all in the details.”  
“May I use your sonic shower before I head back?” Hugh asked with a grin.  
“Of course.”  
“You’re welcome to join.”   
I’m not as spry as when we met- I take one with you, it won’t be too enthralling.”   
“Acceptable when I know that just you looking at my abs is ‘enthralling’ enough,” Hugh boasted, groaning as he stood up and out of Geordi’s embrace.

Meanwhile, the Commander smirked, his eyes darting all over the red hickeys he’d left on the xB.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you Hugh.”  
“Never.” 

Hugh wandered to Geordi’s restroom, where five seconds later the light turned on and the mirror’s reflection revealed itself to Hugh.

“ _Oh my god, Geordi!”_

And Commander La Forge let out the best laugh he’d had all week. 

Half an hour and a Turbolift ride later, Hugh and Geordi slowed as they approached the xB’s quarters, hands politely behind both of their backs and barely resisting full, toothy, playful grins. 

“Well--”

Ah. Both tried and false started that one.

‘Jinx,’ would be the old Earthen tradition to state.

“Like I said before,” Geordi restarted, “glad we could both get that all out in the open, Executive Director.”  
“Very constructive talks indeed, Commander. A promising future for Cooperation/Federation ties, I’d like to think.”  
“Oh, immensely; your willingness to work where needed is highly commendable.”

Hugh and Geordi shared flat, amused smirks.

“Goodnight, Geordi.”  
“Goodnight, Hugh.”

Hugh checked the hall once. Twice.  
Geordi checked a third time. 

And the two snuck a kiss with hands on the opposite cheeks, a treasured savoring of the others’ feel on the lips. 

“ _Now_ goodnight,” Geordi told him, to which Hugh agreed with a chuckling “goodnight” as he disappeared behind his quarters’ sliding doors.

The Commander walked back to his own quarters- by himself in person, but certainly not alone in spirit.

That, in itself, was perhaps the most immense presence- the most immense _reality-_ of all.


	9. reverence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First month out of six for the Federation and Reclamation Project co-joint operation? Done and dusted; what's the station Commander and Executive Director's secret to such a thriving workplace? 
> 
> In which: we take a trip to the doctor's, we get a phone call from the woods, and an old friend offers an ear to a certain station Commander and basks in the presence of a beautiful, former patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new character tag who dis :) || troval is genderfluid so pronouns change in-text, It Is For A Reason || reference to anything related to both the Pasteur and it's happenstances around it was thanks to memory beta deepdives at 1AM researching for this fic. it's cool to see how EU stuff spanned into this whole legacy for her !!! || from this chapter (and carrying over from 7) each new chapter now will have at least one (1) xB lore anthropology writing. yeehaw bitches let's get into some meta'ing || I'M FINALLY MAKING GOOD ON MY JANEWAY/SEVEN TAGGED I'M JUST SO SORRY IT TOOK THIS LONG || yes crosis is almost six and a half feet tall. i got my tax return and i spent it on himbos || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 1, 2391]**   
**"TACTICAL CUBE" SERIAL NUMBER 32, DESIGNATION " _ **L**.B.V. Theta"_**

> _ **CH. 2, SCT. III - ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION WORKPLACE STRUCTURES - ORDERS OF RANK (AND ABSENCE THEREOF)** _
> 
> _“One aspect of Reclaimed/Cooperation society that continues to fascinate me is its attempts at a society-wide decentralization. Paradoxically, this kins them with their original Hivemind, yet also resists the idea of penultimate-enforced Queen matriarchy and the individual-suppressing Collective. With the absence of money and/or capital made on any generated goods, nearly all forms of work or employment are communal, with all available to freely study and access (thanks to inherent xB knowledge given from the Collective’s past, this becomes more of ‘emphasizing’ certain knowledge without the exact labor of ‘learning’ them for the first time). The Reclamation Project Board is carefully evaluated in a communal setting, and each member only lasts one Federation Standard year; Capitol communal organizers are constantly evaluated in their efficiency and well-being towards the selected community of peoples, reporting to a network of Relays, Junctions, and Directors that compare and contrast each other’s behavior towards their citizens. While the xBs have no formal military or police force (instead utilizing communal group watches), much like Trill society with the Symbiosis Commission, their highest societal regard_ _is being able to work with the Reclamation Project, and it is where the following titles are given._
> 
> _While_ _xBs have terminologies that indicate enhanced responsibilities in certain departments (i.e. titles in equivalence to ‘Commander,’ ‘Lieutenant,’ etc), this ‘higher rank’ is less of a society-demanded respect or authority, and simply addresses the individual’s prowess or experience in the subject within the Reclamation Project. The term itself ‘Junction’ implies a ‘connecting’ or ‘joining,’ and Junctions have proven, in my observations, to simply help ‘connect’ capable workers with either knowledge or skill in a department. To take on a title of something like ‘Relay,’ ‘Junction,’ or ‘Director’ is an assumption of responsibility the individual must be willing to take on for the community; the very nature of their duties implies subservience to the greater populous you are connecting._
> 
> _To illustrate in observed example: in all my years of xenoanthropologic studies, rarely have I seen someone in an equivalent position of power to that of a Starfleet Admiral resubmit themselves to the mundane and gory labors of a Medical Ensign, with as much grace, humility, and willingness as Reclamation Project Executive Director Hugh does.”_

10 days after Hugh and Geordi had broken the ice, and work couldn’t have been proceeding better onboard all _Solstice, Theta, Iota,_ or _Atlas_ for Executive Director Hugh.

Both he and the _Solstice_ Station Commander were practically sending their respective factions electric enthusiasm with their “cooperative” spirits, the synergy infectious as small subspace warp theories were tested, and the Command Juggernaut departed from _Solstice_ yesterday to take its first ferry's worth of xBs back to Ohniaka III. It was an antsy first few weeks between Federation and Cooperation officers, admittedly, but finally the workplace efficiency seemed to be spreading between the rest of _Solstice’s_ crew; Hugh noticed more Starfleet staff were willing to try and start up casual conversation with their xB collaborators, the Director quietly listening over his shoulder as he enjoyed the background hum of small talk. Even on the Tactical Cubes, Hugh was beyond pleased to hear from staff who’d interacted with Federation peoples; at one point, Five told Hugh how she found herself as a lead storyteller to a half-circle of enraptured Ensigns over glasses of synthehol, anxious to hear more about the AI of the starship whose shadow they worked under. While certainly not perfect (there had been a handful of instances where Hugh had to correct harmful and/or microaggressive phrasing in reference to xBs), the Starfleet officers were _far_ better than some and were at least _trying_ , stoking the embers of hope for xBs that Hugh tried so desperately to keep warm.

This was to say nothing, of course, for how well he and Geordi seemed to work together after just one month.

Six weeks if Hugh included the preparatory material.   
But who was counting.

Queen 127 still had to "wake up" for their second Consultation, anyway.

Despite the looming, inevitable dread the Queen gave Hugh, even Director Second Crosis had noticed a palpable increase of energy in his friend and comrade (not to mention _also_ noticing the amusing amount of hickeys Hugh had been left with). But Hugh insisted to his right-hand xB that it had only been _one_ time, after all; it couldn’t have been _just_ that. So what was it, Hugh pondered? A greater level of trust? A boost to his confidence, now that a border that Hugh was timidly skirting around beforehand had been crossed in good faith on both sides? Even he had to admit, they had become far more… “playful?” “Teasing?” What could Hugh call it when the Commander dramatically gave him a PADD with a twirl of his hand without even looking up, he himself sneaking winks to Geordi after a sip of puerh tea? How he began to memorize Geordi’s little habits after living long term in his immediate vicinity, micro-expressions in his face, the Commander waiting for the Director in the morning Mess Hall to review the day’s itinerary… This was all topped off by a wonderful evening where they caught the setting sun in Hugh’s windows back in his _Solstice_ quarters, the two toasting the human month ‘September’ out the metaphorical door and welcoming in the next with raucous fun bathed in backlit, privacy-filtered windows. 

They may have had a _little_ bit of synthehol to celebrate the end of the first month.   
And that little bit of synthehol _may_ have led to a rather pleasing night together with the station Commander.   
Maybe he had some updating to do with Crosis.

In any case, Hugh felt well rested and regenerated as he donned his Reclamation Procedure protective gear, the Director snapping gloves onto sanitized hands and his breathing finally evening out behind a mask and face shield. He was scheduled for medical assistance today since there were extra Consultation staff needed in PT and had to be pulled from the Reclamation Procedure floor. The stripped augments of Atlas’ xBs were far older than what most newer Reclamation Staff were used to working with, and it was beginning to wear on their supplies in the form of quicker-depleted dermal regenerators and a greater taxing on Cooperation physical therapy alcoves. A request for an earlier resupply had been submitted to Starfleet HQ by both the Director and Commander that morning, and Hugh could only hope that the Federation would pull through for the Reclamation Project’s sake. 

Now, however, Hugh had more important tasks at hand, rather than worrying about a reply he couldn’t expedite; a “Silenced” known as Eight of Eight had been found to have a facial apparatus that was given the green to be removed, this being Hugh’s 10th assisted Reclamation Procedure of the day. He was under Medical Resource Junction Toval's supervision, the Betazoid xB an unmatched artisan in the realm of preparing patients both physically (and mentally) for difficult procedures such as this. In most situations regarding mouthpiece removals, Silenced had to be conscious during this phase of the operation, as the team required full muscular/cognitive awareness to have patients kickstart their own first breaths free of the Borg’s invasive tech.

“Alright, everyone- Team 10 for Patient 510 ‘Eight,’ gather ‘round,” Troval sighed, cracking her knuckles as she rounded to where Eight’s head rested. Hugh deemed his garments were properly affixed, turning back to where the xB lay in wait. “Tissue underneath Borg fixtures has been reconstructed, airways are clear and respiratory systems stimulated to begin accepting cellular chemical transference; are we ready to pull?”

The crowd of four and Hugh replied with “Yes, Junction.”

Nodding at her staff, Troval turned back to Eight, placing a hand to cusp the top of the xB’s head. Their organic tissue had begun violently rejecting their Borg implants within the past few days, follicle stimulators showing small tufts of dark hair beginning to sprout from freshly-woven flesh at the hands of a dermal regenerator and removed cranial platings. After a couple days worth of study, personal consultation, approval, and a guarantee that Eight _could_ actually have the mouthpiece removed without complications, the Procedure date was set, and now the former technician drone was laid out before them.

“Are _you_ ready, Eight?” Troval asked. “We will begin on ‘one.’ At the count of ‘one, we will need you to perform a deep, long _exhale,_ until the apparatus is completely out. Alright?”

Shutting their eyes, the xB nodded quickly and signed. 

“<I will comply. Proceed.>”

At this cue, one of the staff retrieved an apparatus designed to go on the other end of Borg mouth fixtures as a sort of “anchor point” to pull them with, leading it down the line to Troval as the Betazoid hooked it to the end of Eight’s piece. Confirming in both her visual UI’s analysis, the status monitors to the side, and seeing the surrounding tissues free and separate from the metal, Troval finished attaching the “handle” to Eight’s augment and took a deep breath. The rest of the staff was ready and waiting, Hugh watching the xB tech intently… waiting… and a light on the end of the anchor finally turned green with a beep, Troval taking a stance and priming her hands.

“Internal tissue decoupling confirmed, Junction.”

“Thank you.” 

Hugh watched Troval take a breath. 

“Three… two… one--” and with a heave and seeing Eight was exhaling, Junction Troval tugged, “pull--!” 

The apparatus was wrenched free of the mouth, throat, and down the line of medical technicians; a column of the invasive Borg tech erupting out of Eight’s mouth like massive rotten roots unearthed from deep, fertile soil. All present technicians escorted the discarded augments back as Junction Troval pulled, down, down, down and into a tray for later study or discarding, Eight coughing, gasping, and sputtering as more and more of the augment left their throat. Once Troval’s hands were free, she was handed a hypospray by an attendant to sedate the xB so they could begin proper repairative healing therapies after asking some questions; but after turning back, however, the crew paused for only a second, concentration broken by an escalating, raw, cracking gasp from Eight, then a shudder, and then--

All at once, Eight let out a yell that shook the tactical cube's very walls.

To speak for the Director's experience, this was an occasional phenomenon that some xBs had in their first moments of Vocal Reclamation.  
But each time Hugh heard it, the phenomenon was just as harrowing, emboldening, and riveting as the first time he’d heard one of his kin scream in such defiance.

The sound Eight made was not a holler, not a yelp, nor a quick bleat of the throat- but a long, powerful, defiant cry that broke the ambience of the Reclamation Procedure chamber, the sound just as haunting as it was both awestriking and inspiring. As a swimmer would break water’s surface or an organic infant would take their first breath in the form of a wail, so too did some xBs pierce the veil of their own silence, Hugh pleased to see this augment in particular did not entirely destroy the liberated Borg’s mouth. After this yell, Eight broke down into a gasping sob, their free hand pawing over where the “cork” of a mouthpiece used to be, seemingly wanting to feel their lips and teeth, wanting to simply _hear_ their voice, their _actual_ voice, after so many years of repression and subjugation. Junction Troval’s eyes creased, alluding to a hidden smile, the Medical Resource Junction looking quite peaceful despite the auditory startle- as if listening to the rumble of a freshly crashed, frighteningly-large wave on Ohniaka III’s seaside cliffs. 

“Eight,” Troval spoke, a gloved hand going to gently rest on top of their chest. “Nod your head for ‘yes’ and shake it for ‘no.’ Can you breathe?” 

Eight’s free hand continued to hold their shuddering jaw as they nodded, a few cracks of a voice trying to eck out of their throat. 

“Does your breath feel constricted or blocked in any way?”

“N--” 

The xB shook their head. 

“Do you--”

“A-ah,” Eight gasped, the hand on their jaw scrambling down to hold Troval’s, “h--th--”

“Eight,” she reminded, “you may have access to your vocal cords again, but they are very weak right now, as are the rest of your speech-related muscles; don’t push yourself. Let your voice rest,” Troval told them, “it’s definitely not going anywhere now.” 

Realizing it may be more stress for their own mental and physical sake, the xB nodded again, mouth quivering while shut as Hugh read their xBSL. 

“<My voice sounds,> they paused with shaking hands to find a word, <good.>”

Troval watched him fondly as she brought up her own hands, “<It sounds strong _._ >”

Hugh grinned under his mask, beginning to utilize his own hands for the sake of camaraderie.

“<And you’ll get to hear it as much as you want once you’re recovering. Troval is going to sedate you so we can begin deep-tissue reconstruction therapy in a specialized alcove,>” Hugh told them, “<Is that alright?>”

“<Acceptable.>”

“<Thank you, Eight.> Junction?” Hugh spoke aloud. 

Troval nodded, placing a hand over Eight’s folded hands as she hyposprayed the xB’s neck. Their body began to relax and breath left their mouth, Troval giving one more squeeze to the xB’s hand before disposing of the empty hypospray. After some collaborative instruction, it was decided that the other four staffers would attend to cataloging the procedure and preparing for the next patient, while Troval and Hugh would transport Eight on a maglift gurney to the medical Regeneration Alcoves for further healing.

“I forgot how deep these older models went, admittedly,” Hugh broke the silence with. 

“It’s definitely antiquated,” Troval sighed, “I haven’t seen fixtures like this since we were first establishing the code for Capitol Procedures, Director. I’ll have to let Junction V’evik take a look at it for further study, actually; they’d probably appreciate having active reference for some of this mid 70’s augment tech.” 

“You would know best, wouldn’t you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘best,’ Hugh,” Troval teased, “but it helps when you’ve been operating on xBs for all our 23 years.” 

Hugh grinned. “You and your team are doing amazingly, as usual.”

“16’s our preferred daily and we have 6 more to go today,” the Junction sighed, “but you are too, Hugh. I am glad to see, as always, you haven’t lost your healing touch in all that administrative work.” 

“You flatter me, Junction,” Hugh admitted under his mask. “I could never surrender such valuable skills for direct action in favor of merely resigning myself to bureaucratic pencil pusher work.”

Troval quirked a brow at him from under her mask. “‘Pencil pusher?’ Really?”

“Ah- a human phrase Commander La Forge recently taught me,” Hugh noted. “A pencil i--”  
“I know what a human’s definition of ‘pencil’ is and what it’s meant to _push_ , Director,” the Betazoid crooned, “I just wanted to know where you got it _from_.”

Hugh rolled his eyes with a masked smirk.

As the two pulled Eight up to a horizontal alcove that was specifically to ease Procedure patients’ immediate healing, Hugh’s Cooperation badge chirped.

“ _Commander La Forge to Executive Director Hugh, respond_.”

Hugh looked to Troval, “Can you--?”  
“I’ve got them, go ahead--”   
“Director Hugh here,” chimed the xB with a plap to his chest as Troval attended to Eight, “what can I do for you, Commander?”

 _“Looks like Admiral Janeway called us back already with news about that resupply request. Could you meet me in my Ready Room on_ Solstice _by 1500?”  
_ “What time is it currently?”  
 _“1450.”_

Hugh looked back to Troval, who signed “<Go on; if it’s good news, my department wants to hear ASAP. I can get someone to cover you.>”

“Of course. I have to wrap up here on _Theta_ and change, but I will be there before 1500.”  
 _“Thank you, Hugh.”_

After the comm-badge chirped off, the Director returned to helping Troval align Eight inside the alcove.

“Let’s hope it’s good news,” she said dryly. “I don’t want to have to resort to ‘roughing it,’ as I believe the phrase goes.” 

“We’ll wish for the better.” 

At the mention of ‘roughing it,’ a certain memory came back to Hugh as they affixed Eight with the proper devices to aid their healing. 

> _It was not long after Lore had been deactivated, perhaps a day or two; Hugh and Crosis had been cleaning the research facility that Lore had left derelict, full of dead or injured or frightened Borg. Another drone, Troval (not Nine of Fifteen), had holed themselves inside after complaining of a deep pain and terrible ache in their face, an inability to see, trying to combine Cube’s 5219’s technology with that of the facility’s medical resources to see if they could remedy the problem. The two had left Nine, Troval, in the chamber by themself- but suddenly heard a loud, pained holler from the west wing where the Soonien android once performed his medical experiments._
> 
> _Hugh and Crosis scrambled towards the sound of the cry that was now heaving breaths and, reaching the chamber, found Troval._
> 
> _From this point on, all Cooperation and Reclamation Project historical records would come to know this moment as the first-ever recorded “Reclamation Procedure.”_
> 
> _Holding up a Starfleet-leftover… Hugh squinted, it was a ‘dermal regenerator,’ up to their, her, face, Troval was stimulating new flesh around where the shape of the cortical implant and exo-plating shell had been, Troval grinning despite the streaks of blood that lingered on her face from the original site. Clicking the regenerator off as she, they, reached the top of their face as Hugh and Crosis lingered in the doorway, she turned back to them- with one less augment, and… Hugh recalled his shock: her face, it was more flushed, had color, not drained of color by nanoprobes- it looked different than how she, they, were, but different--_
> 
> _“What are you doing?!” Crosis cried, leaning over his smaller ‘friend’ as they beheld the drone. But Hugh was struck silent by her… what was a word: glee, excitement, enthrallment- as the dro-- Troval, it was Troval- as the droTroval laughed, relieved, her organic eye bleary and just as red as the raw, tender, new flesh under a removed exo-plating chunk of their, her, face._
> 
> _“Do you see,” they shuddered, voice weak and wavering with failing Borg-laden vocal augments, “Hugh? Crosis? Yes? These,” Troval said, “are our bodies. Ours. This is_ my _body. Yours are your_ own _. It can look different… if our bodies reject what we were before, and we want something_ else… _not just repairs, regeneration cycles, if we can make them_ different… _!”_
> 
> _Troval’s hand that held the augment began to clench._
> 
> _And the strength of Troval’s augmented palm crushed the facial implant as easily as clumps of Ohniakan soil would crumble in their hands, dropping the plating to the floor with a clatter (and spattering of blood from the surface of where metal met skin)._
> 
> _“We can make them into anything we want.”_

And Hugh, for a flash, remembered wondering all those years ago, if he could make himself different, too.

* * *

_“Gentlemen- thank you for coming; apologies for my delay in response. Turns out playing 52 pick up with a slew of medical freighters spread every which way made tying ends together a bit harder than I initially thought it’d be.”_

Geordi La Forge was fully humored by Admiral Janeway at this point after the initial surprise upon starting up the conference viewscreen. His eyes were scanning the background of what looked to be a deeply forested area behind a window, and said Admiral in a cozy turtleneck tending to a mug of, most likely, black and bitter coffee.

Someone was definitely comfy- and possibly indulging their workaholic side when they probably shouldn’t be.   
“You’re still well within our day cycle, Admiral,” the Commander assured her. “I believe I can speak for the Director here when we say that was more than a reasonable response time.”

“Commander La Forge’s sentiments are correct,” Hugh agreed at Geordi’s side. “We merely thank you for taking the time researching available resources for us.”

“Although I _will_ say,” Geordi hummed, holding up a finger between him and a now-smirking Hugh, “and I hope I have your shared sentiments, Director; this isn’t quite the conference background we last saw you in; nor a hail of a response from a cabin site in the Pacific Northwest.”

 _“It’s called ‘Bainbridge,’ thank you very much,”_ Janeway grumbled playfully, “ _and it happens to have a lovely scenic comfort with its plethora of nature trails. But I am this venture’s assigned Admiral overseer; like hell I’m about to let its requests get swept into bureaucratic nightmares while Clancy’s in the Beta Quadrant.”_

Geordi merely smirked. 

“Your dedication is admirable and appreciated.” 

And Janeway looked up with a grin after her sip. _“Mm. It’s too early here to be flattering me before the caffeine’s fully hit, Mr. La Forge.”_

Hugh had made it to Geordi’s Ready Room at two minutes to 1500, the Commander and Director practically jumping right into a call with the awaiting Admiral on the other end. In those two minutes, however, the Commander managed to engage Hugh in some playful ribbing, with a “regenerate well?” from Geordi and Hugh returning with an “as well as I wager you slept.” Considering the responsibilities the two had to share, the pressure they were under, and the general demands of such responsibilities from Federation and/or Cooperation, it was nice to gloat, revel, and have _fun_ in the fact he and the xB Director could interact in this way, much less continue it and not have it dampen their relationship as station managers, as Commander, Director, as… what. A friend?

Sure.

Maybe he could find another word.  
Later. Far, far later.  
Right? No. Yes. 

Still business time, La Forge. 

The Commander allowed himself a shared grin with Hugh before continuing. 

“So who did you find?” 

_“Well, I’ve got a couple,_ ” Janeway sighed, bringing up a visual UI on her side of the screen, _“But my first choice? You’re not going to believe it, Commander. First though, context: have you kept up to date with the recent Federation-sponsored medical aid to Cardassia Prime, by chance?”_

“If I recall correctly, there’s an active operation happening to help research a cure for Yarmin Fel Syndrome.”

“ _You_ are _correct,_ ” Janeway confirmed. “ _One of the interned starships there has concluded its allotted time there now that a vaccine has been approved for mass production. They had a recent resupply that went to… well not_ ‘waste _,’ per-say, but timing for the vaccine approval worked out in such a manner that they’d be traveling home with just as many goods as they initially_ arrived _with_.” 

“And we’d be receiving them instead so they don’t have to haul it all back,” Geordi put together.

“To my knowledge, Yarmin Fel Syndrome is a disease that features symptoms of epidermal necrosis,” Hugh audibly realized. “This means there’ll be… a _plethora_ of what we require for Reclamation Procedure equipment.”

 _“Correct as well, Director Hugh,”_ Janeway highlighted. _“Our only major blockade would be getting the rest of the Admirals overseeing operations in that area to see eye-to-eye, but it’s something I’m willing to dig my administrative heels into for your sakes.”_

Relief washed over the Commander as he soaked in Janeway’s words. “I’ll be available all afternoon should you require additional consultation and personal reference. I do have to note, however; you said I ‘wasn’t going to believe this’ when I enquired as to what ships were available… the one in question we’re discussing,” Geordi asked, “who is it?”

And Admiral Janeway smirked as she sat back in her chair.

“ _The USS Pasteur.”_

 _The Pasteur?  
_ _Bev’s ship?!  
_ That _U.S.S. Pasteur!?_

“Are you--!” Geordi scoffed in disbelief- upon Janeway nodding her head in confirmation, and the Commander let out a sing-song laughter, running a hand over his beard and musing “ohhh, how about that!” in an exhale, “you’re kidding!”

“ _I didn’t kid Director Hugh about your assignments together; what makes you think I’d start now.”_

“Forgive me,” Hugh asked meekly, “I am, ah- ignorant to all of Starfleet’s captaincies, admittedly. May I ask who is--”

“Oh, Hugh, if I didn’t know the person who captained that ship myself, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea who it was either,” Geordi assured the xB at his side. “But when a medical ship’s got someone like _Doctor Beverly Crusher_ in charge, I tend not to forget.”

And Geordi watched the xB’s mind become absolutely boggled in the span of about three seconds with a rapidly-reddening face, an open mouth, and starstruck surprise dancing in Hugh’s brown-and-blue eyes.

“I-I…” Hugh stammered. “Oh, that’s--”

“Exciting?”  
“It's, I'm ah… Very, yes-”  
“Perfect?”  
“Yes--!”  
“Uhhh _great?!”_

“Incredibly!” Hugh finally laughed, the shock wearing off and realizing they still had an Admiral on the other line. “Ah… Janeway, I- ask you understand my reaction; Doctor… or, rather, forgive me- _Captain_ Crusher saved my life as a young xB, and has a… _very_ respected place in not only _my_ history, but xBs overall, an--”

 _“You owe me no justification for your well-earned enthusiasm, Director Hugh,”_ Janeway affirmed with a wave to her hand. _“May I just correctly assume that both of you would prefer this vessel to restock Solstice?”_

Geordi and Hugh responded with a cacophony of “oh yes”’s and “please”’s all around.

 _“Perfect for me; don’t even have to hail the_ Caduceus _, then. I--”_

Geordi and Hugh watch Janeway suddenly sit up at the sound of an opening door on her end, looking to the other side of whatever cabin’s office room she was in. As she did, a smooth-yet-authoritative voice could be heard saying _“Kathryn, you have left the coffee pot on for 23 minutes now; would you like me to deactivate it, or did you want another cup?”_ The Admiral, eyes darting between the screen and the door, looked as if she’d been caught in the act of something, and her eyes finally closed with a sigh as a hand rested on her temple as the voice asked _“Is that a Starfleet communications channel?”_

And just as the Commander (and Hugh) had come down from the high of realizing Crusher would be here soon, Geordi watched the Director at his side perk up like he’d just seen a blip on a sensor screen. 

The xB’s head tilted some towards the call, as if to ensure and double-check his own hearing.

“Seven?”

Quick steps could now be heard approaching the desk. “ _Hugh-?_ ”

Janeway’s full palm was covering her face by this point, and Geordi definitely did _not_ expect his first meeting of the infamous Seven of Nine to go exactly like this. 

The xB rounded the Janeway’s desk, Seven seemingly in some sort of outdoor wear for… hiking? Something to do with nature, considering the tracksuit-like turtleneck and her dirty blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. It explained why Janeway looked both cozy _and_ ready to tackle nature with the scenery behind her, an augmented hand leaning against the top of Janeway’s desk to peer at them both. Like any xB, she had a piercing stare and a sharp sense of analytics, but her expression softened some at seeing Hugh, who was all grins and smiles at seeing, what he could only assume, to be a friend with a bond that ran deeper than just mere acquaintanceship.

 _“So_ this _is what you were doing in here.”  
_ _“Special circumstance, special people, Seven,_ ” Janeway begged in a sardonic tone, pulling her hand away from her facepalm, “ _let me have this- just this_ one _iota of productivity before our walk._ ”

Seven pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, but turned a more collected glance back to Geordi and Hugh.

 _“I knew the Atlas Project was under Admiral Janeway’s supervision,”_ Seven said smoothly, though she drew her eyes down to the Admiral again, _“but_ someone _is supposed to be on mandated Shore Leave for a week. Still, however… it is good to see you, Director Hugh. Commander La Forge,” Seven spoke with a turn of her head, “I have heard many favorable qualities spoken regarding and about you in particular- from both Starfleet and an xB narrative. ...And Hugh has had his own stories, of course. But it is a pleasure to finally put a name to a face.”_

“Oh, I think I can say the same for you too, Seven,” Geordi allowed himself in pride. “Hope Shore Leave is going well for you.”

 _“It is only Day_ Two _of it, and I seem to notice the Admiral already has the symptoms of the phenomenon known as ‘cabin fever.’”_ Seven’s expression softened a fraction, turning her head to the xB who called out her presence in the first place. _“Hugh,”_ she crooned _, “it is very good to see you.”_

“It is... ‘wonderful,’ ‘delightful,’ ‘ _great’_ to see you too, my friend,” Hugh beamed, practically bouncing in place at the sight and sound of Seven. “I cannot speak for our kin, but Ohniaka III and the Project staff here send their warmest regards. To my recollection, and forgive my current ignorance to your situation, but-- I thought you were out with the Fenri Ra--”

“ _Y_ _ou are correct_ ,” Seven confirmed, palpably and rigidly bashful at her own on-the-spot surprise, “ _I_ am _typically in the Beta Quadrant. However- the Admiral informed me that she would be on mandated Shore Leave for a week, so I took temporary leave from the Rangers since my absence was deemed acceptable, and decided to go on--”_

“‘ _Vacation_ ,’” Janeway finished and hushed with a pointer over her own lips, “ _which_ I _technically am_ on _right now, too. How about that- what a coincidence._ ”  
“ _Yes: and that means_ not _communicating with a highly-sensitive joint project between the Federation and Cooperation._ ”

 _“It’s_ just _a little paperwork to tide me over,_ ” Janeway pleaded, “ _I can’t go completely cold turkey. Besides, I wouldn’t do this for just_ anyone _, Seven; I think we can all appreciate the fuller context here for these two fine gentlemen... and to my recollection,_ you _were ‘on the phone’ last night to a certain group in the Beta Quadrant, too.”_

Seven looked back between the viewscreen and Janeway- her expression was obviously some degree of exasperated, but there was an unspoken patience in her glances that Geordi guessed the xB offered very few others in her life.

“ _Fine. In exchange, you’re not looking at_ another _communication’s screen until we begin our hike today, Kathryn_.”

“ _It’s a deal, dear. Now, you two-_ ” 

Geordi and Hugh were pulled out of their amusement, standing up straighter and replying with a “Yes Ma’am.”

 _“I’ll contact Captain Crusher and fill her and the Pasteur’s crew in on all the supplies you require that you fired off this morning. Barring they have any outlying obstacles, they should be at Solstice’s doorstep innn,_ ” she calculated, _“50 hours, if that’s acceptable.”_

“Much preferable than having to wait an extra 11 day cycles,” Hugh sighed. “Thank you very much, Admiral.”

 _“Of course, Director. And_ I’ll _handle Clancy if she says anything; I don’t think she will, but you never know. I think I can see her strategy; she'll be wanting the_ Pasteur _to start heading back towards Terra Prime through Bajoran space as to not look like we have too many irons in the fire, but I’m hoping for understanding of the circumstances on the Admiral’s behalf.”_

Geordi sighed. “We hope so too.”

_“She’s gonna have to be; we’ll all be there in two months for the Midway Completion Gala, anyway.”_

“The Cooperation is already excited to host, Admiral.”

“ _Oh, but of course- and you’re coming with me, right?_ ” Janeway asked as she looked up to Seven, the xB’s eyes darting between the two on _Solstice_ and the woman sitting below her. “ _It’d be awfully delightful to catch up with everyone to celebrate such progress the Reclamation Project and Federation are accomplishing together._ ”

The herculean patience on Seven’s behalf visibly resurfaced, the woman’s eyes darting in between Geordi, Hugh, and Janeway.

Maybe Geordi ought to think about his own date already.  
And by the look of Hugh’s wordless glance, it seemed as if the xB was already pondering a similarly-veined idea. 

“ _We will discuss this over the extra_ kilometer _I am making you hike, now._ ” 

“ _Acceptable; it's good for my core_.” And with a smirk, Janeway returned her attention to him and Hugh.

“ _You would think with how much exploring we did, Gentlemen,_ ” Janeway hummed as she clutched her coffee mug, _“that I’d be the last person to say ‘it’s a small world.’ But here we are regardless, and I am glad you are willing to accept the company and resupply of Captain Crusher’s resources.”_

“Ah, just means you’re one of the stubborn ones,” Geordi bragged for her. “You stick around this long, stubbornness is built into you in some form; it’s what can get things done. But thank you again, Admiral; we send our best regards.” 

_“And in return, I send my best regards to the Reclamation Project. The full inventory list that_ Pasteur _is able to provide will be sent your way before the hour’s end on my side of the quadrant, and expect to receive the Pasteur itself to Solstice in approximately 50 hours. May I do anything else for you before I talk to you next in five days' time?”_

“Nothing I can think of, Admiral,” Geordi confirmed, turning to Hugh. “Anything you have to add, Director?”

“Simply to have a lovely Shore Leave, Admiral, Seven,” Hugh chimed brightly. “I offer my greatest thanks as Executive Director for you taking time out of your vacations to assist us. Seven,” Geordi caught Hugh admitting, “an extra good graces to you.” 

Seven, firming her expression and her eyes searching for something, gave the Director a grin- something Geordi suspected she did not give lightly. “ _Take care of yourself, Hugh._ ”

“You as well.”

Janeway nodded and reached up to end the call. “ _Happy planning_.” 

And after the UI flipped off, Hugh’s eyes boggled with a sigh, smushing his hands over his face and through his hair, Geordi fidgeting with his own bundle of emotions as the two reeled in all amazement, humor, delight--

“That’s-” Geordi sighed with a puffed out cheek and widened stare. “Wow, I--”  
Hugh’s face was completely hidden. “Where do we even _start,_ ” the xB droned, voice muffled by his own hands.

“I, uh…”

Truth be told, the Commander had no idea either. 

“...Where do _you_ wanna start, Hugh.”

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 3, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_**

Like any proper xB, Hugh started with his own beginning, and talked with Geordi for the rest of the hour. 

And 49 extra hours later, the Federation medical starship _U.S.S. Pasteur_ had successfully confirmed lunar orbit above the specialty starbase, _Solstice_ Station Manager Commander La Forge and Reclamation Project Executive Director Hugh waiting for Captain Beverly Crusher to transport in.

Hugh straightened his jaw as Geordi fiddled with his uniform’s combadge, trying to listen to Crosis’ idle piddling on the transporter control console behind them.

His Director Second didn’t _really_ need to be here for this; but one “coincidental meeting” down the hall and a conveniently-dismissed Ensign later, and the near-two-meter-tall xB was looming over Federation transporter controls.

The xB felt himself force down a thick swallow.

And before Hugh could wander down a train of thought littered with self doubt and nervousness, Geordi’s voice broke the transporter pad chamber’s silence.

“You’ll be fine, Director.”  
“She’s a _Captain,_ Commander. _”_

“You talk to _Admirals_ every Monday, Hugh,” Geordi crooned, “I don’t see what’s so different about a _Captain_.”

“The Commander has a point, Director,” Crosis chimed brightly, the large xB smirking to himself as Hugh wanted nothing more than to stare precious daggers at the man. “I must admit- this allows a similar comparison of how you’ll _boldly_ spit in the face of a megalomaniac android, but _I’m_ the one who has to take the Ohniakan clicker beetles outside when they're found in your office.”

Hugh was going to (lovingly) throttle his Director Second later.  
Geordi was trying not to snort a laugh.

“I just don’t want to ever hurt them by accident,” Hugh admitted finally, “and one _did_ pop right in my face when we first arrived on the planet, so I’ve been jumpy of them ever since.” 

Hugh’s expression calmed some as Geordi’s grin spread even further. 

There was _no_ way he could _possibly_ still be fixing whatever was wrong with Hugh’s Cooperation comm-badge.

“What gave me away, Commander?”

“Well, your _response,_ first of all,” the Commander mused, “but there’s a couple little things... you’ve got your biochip port hand resting over the other, your ocular prosthetic is dilated 2 millimeters over your organic eye… aaand _whatever_ the equivalent of a ‘heart’ is for you,” he continued, “is thudding pretty damn hard inside that chest of yours.”

The Director took another breath in, eyes glancing between him and the transporter pad again.

“Geordi, it has been… _over 20 years_ since I have seen her,” Hugh said somewhat despondently, “and I was- _hardly_ the person I am now. Will she even recognize me, I wonder? What will she think of me? I mean- I know I was excited to see _you_ after my first Reclamation Procedure, but-- this is also a former doctor of mine, a woman who saved my life and saw me as a very different individual before all this, I--”

“If I know Beverly like I do, Hugh,” Geordi spoke in a reassuringly gentle voice, “she’ll be even happier to know you as you are _now_ rather than who you _were._ If anything, I think she’ll be proud,” he told him. “And you’ve got a lot to be proud _of.”_

Hugh felt his face split into a wide, bashful grin at the praise, having to look down once to regain his professional footing as Geordi continued to fiddle with Hugh’s clasp. “You are always so generous in your compliments, Commander.”

“I’ve got a lot to give, Director. Go figure.” 

“The sentiment is mutual.” 

Geordi merely responded with a smirk and a pap to Hugh’s chest to signal he was done, Hugh unable to hold back a quiet laugh as they both turned towards the transported pad.

“Director, Commander,” Crosis told over a beep from the UI, “the _Pasteur_ is ready to transport.” 

“Energize.”

And at Geordi’s command, Captain Beverly Crusher of the _USS Pasteur_ shimmered into existence onboard the specialty starbase _Solstice_.

Crusher’s pips shone against the crimson red of a command uniform, accentuated by the bright CMO coat she wore, even as Captain. Her silver hair flecked with the remnants of ginger was bundled into a simple ponytail that had a natural bounciness to compliment her sharp features; even all these years later, Hugh could still see the kindness in Beverly’s eyes, the xB’s grin catching her infectious grace into a smile as she approached. Out of what his ear caught, Hugh could even hear Crosis stand up a bit straighter, the only other sounds audible to the Director the beating of his own “heart” (as Geordi put it) and the static of nerves firing in his headspace.

“My my- what friendly faces to greet me on my first away mission in a year from Cardassia Prime,” Captain Crusher proclaimed. “Commander La Forge, dear, you’re looking marvelous as ever.”

“And _you’re_ looking as beautiful as always, Captain Crusher. Welcome to _Solstice,_ in Reclamation Project company of Liberated Borg Vessels _Theta, Iota,_ and _Atlas._ ”

“I and my crew are wholeheartedly thankful for the opportunity of respite, Commander. _This_ dashing Executive Director here, however,” Beverly hummed, finally in close range of the two, “Hugh, my God; it’s been so long...”

“It has, hasn’t it,” the xB sighed bashfully, his smile cracking through nervousness again. “But it is a blessing to see you again, Captain. While I revel in the fact I cannot speak directly for my fellow xBs, your presence is equally welcomed to this operation. I was-- wondering if you would recognize me since everything augment-wise is gone, admittedly; _most-_ everything, of course; some pieces have still lingered, ha--” 

Without another word, the Doctor’s hand reached to cusp the side of Hugh’s face, the xB allowing the weight of his head to rest against Crusher’s palm. Hugh had read of the human trope “the hands of a surgeon;” how they could be analytical, calming, gentle, and observant all at the same time, and concluded that this descriptor could fit Captain Crusher perfectly alongside his memories of Beverly. As her sharp features and gentle eyes scanned over his scars, his implants, the way his hair replaced cranial exo-plating and the way his cheek’s “spider web” accentuated his jawline and cheek, Hugh recalled his own experiences with the former doctor of the _Enterprise-D;_ as frightening and humiliating his own ignorance could be. 

> _"If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was scared."_

Although he had no name at the time for the emotions that roiled through his freshly-severed brain, Hugh would realize much, much later that she was not wrong. 

And even all these years later, her eyes still held the same kindness that she looked at him with beyond the walls of an invisible force field all those years ago.

“Look at you, Mr. Hugh,” Beverly cooed, Hugh unable to keep the smile from beaming his full features at the Captain. “Seems like just yesterday you were giving Commander La Forge here a holographic imaging system plucked straight off that handsome little face of yours.”

“Oh, I’m happy to report that I’ve become a _much_ better gift-giver since then,” Hugh boasted in a gentle tone as Geordi chuckled, “and a little more handsome to boot as well. I must admit however, I-- have tried to prepare for this moment, Beverly, but I must plead my own… ‘lack of words,’ ‘awe,’ _‘ignorance,’_ I suppose,” he tried to settle on, taking in a quick breath. “How do I adequately and properly greet the woman who so kindly saved my life?”

With a newfound smirk and firming of her lips, she shook her head with a ‘tsk’ and began to pap his face, “Ohhh, just like this, ‘you’--” 

And Captain Beverly Crusher suddenly swept both Hugh _and_ Geordi into a hug, the two men now laughing as they accepted and returned the embrace in full. 

“Gonna make me get bleary-eyed, Bev, come on,” Geordi tried to protest despite his continued hug. “We got all nice and ready for you-”

“ _Not_ on my nice uniform, La Forge,” Crusher reprimanded with an extra squeeze, “we have _images_ to maintain around the staff, after all~.” 

“If we are haranguing the images of higher staff,” the Director Second called from the transporter console, “I certainly have some stories to recount about the Executive Director.” 

Oh, Hugh was _definitely_ going to (lovingly) throttle Crosis later.

“Captain, may I introduce Crosis,” Hugh proclaimed as the hug disbursed, “the Reclamation Project’s Director Second and one of my oldest xB friends; I asked him to accompany us.”

“A pleasure and an honor, Captain Crusher,” Crosis relented with a kind smile. “I only regret my own time aboard the _Enterprise-D_ was not as benevolent as the Executive Director’s was.”

“‘Your own time,’” Beverly repeated, “forgive me, Director Second- have we met previously?”

“Not directly, I don’t think; Crosis here was one of the xBs Lore sent to hijack the _Enterprise_ and then turn Data against us,” Geordi filled her in with.”And in the years since then, he’s become quite the humanitarian towards xB society, and remains a vital part of the Reclamation Project's work.”

“A very appreciated, extended way of saying ‘I got better.’” 

“It would seem so, Director Second,” Beverly crooned, impressed by the man’s size and apparent strength as she reached to shake his hand. “Lovely to be meeting you in more fortuitous circumstances.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain," Crosis offered as he took Crusher's hand in his own gnarled palms. "You have a kind place in history among our people.”

“Oh, all of you are going to make me so red my hair will change color on me,” she sighed, placing a hand in faux dramatics over her chest. "Will you be joining us for administrative talks, Director Second?" 

"Perhaps later, Captain; my duties beckon me elsewhere for the day, but I know I shall at least join the senior xB and Starfleet staff to welcome the _Pasteur's_ arrival for dinner. If I recall, the Executive Director has a wonderful menu he wanted to prepare for you; did you know he makes an absolutely _lovely_ Cioppino with Andorian Clams?" 

"Ooo, I _do_ enjoy a good 'spice' with my shellfish every now and then, sir."

Hugh was _absolutely_ , _definitely_ , going to (lovingly) throttle Crosis later, and then toss himself right out the airlock afterwards.

"Captain," Geordi finally had to comment, "ready for a tour of the station?" 

"Most definitely, Commander," Beverly agreed, nodding her head to Crosis. "We shall meet again." 

"And so we shall. Director, Commander; may I depart?" 

Hugh stared pleasant, smiling daggers at Crosis from behind Beverly as he said "you are free to return to duty, Director Second," Crosis giving him a smarmy sword of a glance in return as he left.

"How much character he has, Hugh," the Captain hummed. "Forgive my awe, but it is quite incredible seeing you as you are now alongside Mr. La Forge here." 

"The continual comprehension of ourselves and expressions therein of it is the greatest societal treasure we have, Captain. Trust me when I say there are fewer things xBs love to gloat about than their unique traits."

"Moreso than your Director Second boasts about your Cioppino?"

Geordi pointed at where Crosis had left with a goodnatured smirk, " _that_ was supposed to be a surprise for you, I'm a little peeved about that."

"Don't you dare," she sighed, "this sounds nothing but delicious and gives me something to look forward to other than Cardassian cuisine." 

"How was your stay on Cardassia Prime, if we may ask?" Hugh questioned, Beverly letting the men guide her as she followed them starting towards the turbolift. "I have not been yet myself, and I have only met a meager amount of Cardassian xBs in my current clarity."

“Oh, the people? Lovely. Wonderful. Full of wordsmithing intrigue, and their entire culture is just as much a social braingame as is the Romulan's mystique in mystery. But the government?” Crusher scoffed, waving a hand with an eyeroll. “I could do without _that_ xenophobic mess for a good year or two. There’s incremental change happening, thankfully, but Rome was not built in a day. It’ll take a while and we’ve finally gotten the government outfitted with the universal distribution of the antidote with recommended follow-up treatments, but at _least_ city councils and governors were willing to work transparently with us. But _enough_ , enough talk of Cardassians,” the Captain sighed, “I want to hear all about how _you_ both are doinguntil I have to shove off.”

“Our facilities until then are yours, Captain,” Geordi picked up effortlessly. “For starters, most of the Reclamation Medical Procedures take place onboard either _Theta_ or _Iota,_ the resident Cooperation tactical cubes, with most of the collaborative research, co-joint thesi work, political rendezvous, and administrative work happening here on _Solstice_.”

“Indeed. Research within Sphere 4381, also known as ‘Atlas,’ is home to xB rehabilitation, counseling, as well as general facility repairs and on-site warp theory testing with Borg tech research,” Hugh elaborated. “The Command Juggernaut is responsible for administrative affairs regarding communications to Ohniaka III, and for ferrying xBs back to the planet and serving as the Reclamation Project’s base of operations. It is temporarily gone for now, navigating its first monthly ferry back to the Capitol with 521 successfully Reclaimed out of our original 2,963 head count.”

As he and Geordi led the Captain, Hugh could hear a lighthearted, musing hum escape Beverly. 

“You certainly seem to be running a tight enough operation here, gentlemen. Tell me: Commander, Director,” Beverly asked, turning her heel to face them both as they waited for the turbolift. “You’re performing as smoothly as another well-oiled machine I knew in a Captain and his XO. Life in collaboration and recreation has treated you two well?”

The word choice of ‘recreation’ was almost too on-the-nose.

“Very well indeed,” Hugh chimed.  
“Shockingly so.”

“‘Shockingly so,’" the Director continued, "even _despite_ our ‘guest’ downstairs who refuses to ‘get out of bed,’ I believe the metaphor goes.” 

“So I’ve been debriefed,” Crusher conceded as the turbolift opened. “How long has it been again since you’ve spoken with her?”

“18 days,” Hugh told her after a quick request for the 'xB Wing.' “All her vitals are normal, stable, and she’s for all intents and purposes ‘healthy,’ but we let her retain the ability to waft in and out of stasis. The Reclamation Project does not and will not _take_ agency from its patients, under any circumstances,” the Director affirmed, “and we will not place her into an apparatus of a Queen’s prosthetic body she does not want. Still, it has been… tiring, waiting on her.” 

“Patience is a virtue, Director Hugh,” Beverly offered, and Hugh quite liked how his name sounded when Beverly said it. “Who knows; maybe she’ll have a dream and want to talk to someone about it.”

“Dreams of an xB,” Geordi mused, Hugh watching the Commander out of the corner of his eye as they continued to walk. “I wonder what _those_ would be like.”

> _[The dream is everywhere]  
>  [Deafening]  
> [All of yourself- absent of a controlled, waking conscious]  
> [Chaos without the focus of an alcove]  
> [And almost too much all at once] _

“That is a vast, existential conversation that could go on for many, many hours, Commander La Forge,” Hugh said with a hint of melancholy in his voice, “and I believe we would much rather spend the time introducing Captain Crusher to our facilities here in the waking world, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’d definitely like to return to that ‘vast, existential’ conversation later, Director,” Geordi teased him with a smirk as the turbolift slowed to a stop, “but I agree wholeheartedly.”

“Well- let’s not waste any time, then,” she hummed with her entourage. “I’d like to see as much as I can before we get down to business transferring our supply compliment.”

“It’d be our pleasure, Bev.”

* * *

To cover adequate ground in all three ships and _Solstice,_ Commander La Forge spent an hour and a half with Hugh and Beverly for an operation tour. Navigating _Solstice’s_ halls first and foremost, the Commander and Director allowed Beverly to see the interior spectacle of _Atlas’_ inner chamber, and finally the brutalist medical halls of _Theta_ and _Iota._ Captain Crusher was more than impressed with the harmonious natures of the different Reclamation Project departments; it was rare when cybernetic prosthetics, physical therapy, psychiatric care, immediate surgeons, and long-term treatment facilities were all looked upon with such equal respect and importance towards an individual’s health. The lead supervisors for both Reclamation Project and Starfleet sides of affairs were predictably starstruck: Troval was shocked in amazement as she shook the Captain’s hand, sparkles in her augmented eyes and Klingon xB blood on her smock, with CMO Bartholomew sputtering in admiration with a delightfully blunt and clumsy “wow hi there Captain Ma’am” as she nearly dropped a tricorder. Finally, the three reached the end of their tour, the Commander leading them back to his Ready Room for further talks discussing resource transfer and Starfleet personnel organization. Hugh, predictably, was all smiles (like he was the entire tour whenever Beverly complimented him or the Project), Geordi watching the Director with absolute amusement and adoration.

“I will be sure to pass on the praise to Junction Troval, Captain,” Hugh told her, “the Reclamation Project would have no foundation if not for our esteemed ‘doctors.’”

“Thank you, Hugh,” she hummed, “I’ll be delighted to converse further with them over dinner tonight.”

“I can’t eat too much thanks to my very physicality; but when I do,” the Director chimed, “I try to share around the artistry.”

“I’ve been dying to try this cioppino too for _days_ too, Hugh,” Geordi had to pipe, “what’s the difference _Andorian_ clams make, anyway?” 

“Texture- pure and simple. Ah- the coloration is also a fun contrast. The harsh clash of… what kind of red-- ‘crimson,’ yes--" he said with a snap and a point, "the crimson of the broth and blue of the clams is very amusing to me.”

Geordi couldn’t restrain a wide, adoring smirk. 

_Smug (and cute) little shit._

“Have a good rest of your day, Director,” Beverly crooned to him, “don’t work too hard.” 

“I’ll try. And a good rest of the afternoon to you too; I shall see you- _both_ of you, for dinner at 2000 hours.” 

And as Hugh walked away and Commander La Forge’s Ready Room door shut after him, Beverly folded a hand over her chest as she turned back to Geordi, her face awash in gobsmacked amazement and flattery.

“Told you,” Geordi started off, “they’ve got those stares that’ll stare right in your soul and make you feel like a stack of fresh-pressed latinum.”

“He looked at me like I was a _reverend_ when I beamed in, Commander,” she mused. “And he’s so-- I’d seen pictures of him _before_ I came, Geordi, but--”

“He’s a handsome little bastard, isn’t he!” Geordi allowed himself to gush. “Finding out that was your ship, he got a little bleary eyed in front of me after the call with Janeway, I won’t lie,” Geordi told her with a nostalgic smirk, “and _please_ do not tell him I said that; watch, he finds out, and he’ll be a flushed little wreck for over an hour.”

“And his _First Officer, too!”_ she exclaimed along with him, “oh, that Crosis looks like he popped right out of Jean-luc's Dixon Hill holoprograms- like an old film actor come to life again-”

“As Director Hugh tells me, ‘Reclamation Procedures help bring out the best you that was already there.’” 

“xBs are so… polite, so _ravishing,”_ she roiled on in praise, _“_ who could Crosis eve--”

“He’s gay, Bev.”

Crusher made a playful face and an audible “oogh!” with a snap of her fingers, Geordi unable to hold back a laugh. 

“Ah, well- I’ll happily take his flattery, then. Maybe a hug later on.”  
“Oh, he’s a hugger alright.”

“But tell me, Geordi, purely out of medical curiosity- the scarring,” Crusher asked, her hand motioning in the shape of where Hugh’s and Crosis’ ocular implant and exo-plating was, “that’s not from--”

“Oh, no no no, nothing you had a hand in, Doc,” the Commander assured her. “Apparently it's an irreversible necrotic damage when the implants have been left on the skin to organically degrade over time. You got to Picard right when those augments were fresh and he’d just been severed from the Collective, so he didn’t get much in the way of any physical remnants or anything a standard 60’s dermal regenerator couldn’t handle. Hugh, however; he had all that on his face for _two years_ before it was finally taken off- didn’t even get a new _eye_ until EMH Mk I his Reconstitution Reclamation Procedure in 2378. Hell, I think he was the _only_ lifeform who _could,_ at the time; photonic or not. But yes, just a combination of the biochips in a severed drone losing their immediate supplicant of organic material,” Geordi explained, “and surplus nanoprobe death. Combine those with the way you convert energy suddenly being cut off from the source, it’s bound to happen.”

The whole time Geordi rambled on, Crusher was just watching him. 

Watching him with a smirk as he explained _all_ those little facts about xB lore, biology, the details about someone and his people he worked with... 

Facts he’d, somehow, learned and memorized in the span of a month. 

Technically six weeks, if Geordi counted the arduous prep work involved for this project.   
Who _else_ could've been counting, anyway?

So Geordi said nothing, leaning his chin into his hand and drumming his fingers with the other on the desk as his eyes squinted to look over his old shipmate.

“You’re watching me.”

“Observing.”

His face got darker in blush. “Theorizing?” 

“It’s just interesting, Geordi,” she commented. “Watching you both, even being with you for a couple of hours together... it reminds me a lot of how well you used to get along with a certain someone, too.” 

_Oh, Data._

“Yeah, I can see that,” Geordi admitted. “But Bev, my god- you have to-- _understand_ how just-- _fascinated_ I am by it. ‘Captivated’, even- that’s a better word. I’m _captivated_ by just… knowing who he was- that little drone who we almost sent back to firebomb his own _people,_ and then seeing who he is today? The… amazing spectacle he and xBs have become in _just 23_ years?! I mean look at this, Beverly!” Geordi motioned to the window, hands even splaying towards the Tactical Cubes, “look at iiit, look at all that! Hardly two decades and they’ve got themselves an entire _subsection_ in the Federation xenoanthropology archives! Ships, holidays, naming conventions- even _fashion,_ and my _God_ is it extra! He’s… got a whole slew of his own people now, separate from the Borg- a planet, a favorite type of tea and cooking skills- he’s got a whole new _face_ for crying out loud! How amazing is that!?”

“ _Geordiii,”_ Crusher pressured. 

And with a groan and Geordi settling his head into his hands, he shook it, Geordi rolling his eyes at hearing the woman chuckle that pretty, airy laugh she always had. 

“What am I gonna do, Bev?” he asked. “I’m in charge of… hmm, let’s go down the list:” and he brought his face up to look at her with a single finger held up. “One: a project I haven’t cared about this much since Utopia Planitia. It’s something that matters a lot to him, and one _I_ actually am happy to support and help make work, how about it. Engineering and mechanical science combined with humanitarian work? Who would’ve thunk it. Two:'' up went another finger, “almost 700 lives involved this project on Cooperation and Starfleet sides, not even _counting_ the thousands of drones still sleeping in that Sphere. Three?” the last finger went up, his palm splaying in gesture, “I have the head of a _Borg Queen_ sleeping in my station basement that could wake up at _any_ time, banging on the door for a house call, making _my_ life and _Hugh’s_ life more miserable by the moment! And here I am, here _we_ are,” he exhaled, flopping his hands back down on the desk, “fucking around with each other. ...Pft, yeah- that’s... apt, actually. Not all the way, but-- it’s so good working with him, Doc. ...And I feel like, it’s-- almost-”

“A little _too_ good?” she asked gently. “Almost too perfect?”

Geordi looked down again.

“Can I confess something to you, Bev?”

“Of course, Geordi.”

So he sighed.

“I’m too old to lose someone like him again,” he said quite wistfully, “or mess something like this up because I’m lonely. I… I can’t go through mourning another Data in my life. And I’m happy being friends at all- we’ve picked it right back up again when I saw him last, but I find myself wanting… more. Just-- _something_ more, but I don’t know what to name it. Or I might, I _could_ give it a name, and… I’m a little hesitant about it or naming it the wrong thing, admittedly. ...How about that, y’know,” the Commander realized. “I helped him with his own name, and here _I_ am, scared of naming something else.” 

Geordi could tell that, for all her graceful snark, Crusher was listening to him intently. She loved Data too, in her own way- they _all_ had their own ways of loving that android, but she and Geordi took care of him and watched him grow into a beautiful individual. Data learning how, in his own ways, he had an existence inspired by the life around him and giving context to the innate knowledge installed into his positronic brain, given life by his own soul and relationships he forged with those around him. Now that Geordi thought on it (and Crusher was probably thinking), it _was_ similar to Hugh’s own experiences, the Commander supposed; but where Data had been blessed with the Soong-type birthright of an individual’s tabula rasa, Hugh had to fight for the very _right_ to his own blank slate. The xB had to wade through waters of ignorance, then in and out the depths of trauma- all while matching innate Borg knowledge to unique instances he wanted to _emulate,_ to _be,_ so he could bring out the full picture of the ‘Hugh’ he wanted to carve out from the harsh, blank rockface of the Collective… 

They were two different journeys- walked by two different people on two different paths, but those paths could certainly cross and flow alongside each other.

“Well- be _safe,_ first of all, if you're going to 'fuck around,'” Crusher crooned, Geordi unable to hold back a snort as he sat back and listened. “And second… I think this could be good for you, Geordi. You deserve someone in your life who you know would… support you, be there for you, and give you space to pursue your own career. I miss him too, but he doesn’t have to be... a ‘second Data,’” she told him, “I mean even look at his culture, Geordi; it treasures discovering new things to add to the self, and lending yourself your own agency. You can have… similarities you see in people, preferences, even ‘inspirations’ I suppose, but- let this be your own relationship with Hugh. We’ll always have Data in our hearts, but that heart wants--”

“What the heart wants,” Geordi finished for her. “Yeah.” 

She paused.

“Are you happy with him as it is now?”  
“Absolutely.”

“Then perhaps there _could_ be more. But at your own leisure; you’ve got another five months with the man,” Crusher noted, “use that time to make sure it’s not a heartfelt, fleeting crush the _Enterprise_ was so plagued with.”

“You could say that again. ...But can you just-- I dunno,” he sighed, “while you’re here; watch us for the next couple days? See if I can get another set of eyes on this? Some sorta outside confirmation I’m not overreacting?”

Crusher sat back in her chair with a freshly painted smirk on her lips. “I’m going to call a certain Betazoid and tell her I'm taking her job; using a _doctor_ like a Counselor Commander,” she ended with a “tsk tsk.”

“No, no, ohhh no don’t you _dare-_ I do _not_ need Deanna _or_ Will- _especially Will-_ playing matchmaker with me,” Geordi pointed with a chuckle. “Next thing you know I’ll have Worf pulling up in the _Enterprise-E_ and asking me if I’ve written Hugh any poetry yet.”

“Ooo- I bet he’s got a pretty little tongue for it, though.” 

Geordi’s soul projected out of his body as if a Vulcan suplexed a mindmeld with him into space. 

> _Not just for poetry, Bev._

“Who knows.” 

“ _You_ could,” Crusher reminded, “ _you_ could know. But I’ll keep my eye out, Geordi. It's the least I could do for such an esteemed member of Starfleet… and a very dear friend of mine.”

And the Commander smiled warmly, sitting up a little straighter as he looked the Captain over.

“Thank you, Bev.”

“It’s the least I can do, Geordi. Now come on, come on-” she insisted, waving her hands as she sat up, “let’s get this supply compliment organized and transferred; I’m in the mood for some clams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do yuo think gates mcfadden likes clams ...


	10. reanimation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Beverly Crusher seems to have come during a rather interesting time for the Atlas project. As old truths are dug up and newer truths come closer and closer to having to be addressed, the pressure starts closing in for both the Director and the Commander, and it seems as if the staff themselves are at personal crossroads themselves. 
> 
> Someone's awake, we learn a little about tea, musings are had about augments, and we're reminde of the paradoxical nature of community through individuality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prelude to some angst coming up. like a fine wine you have with a steak, you'll get the faint whiffs before you take the sip and the respective bite, so get ready for some sads and Hard Truths || tw for suicide ideation and transphobia/homophobia metaphors from Guess Who || i actually do really like puerh tea a lot lmao YOU get my self-projection ass for caffeination if you can't drink a shitton coffee either, hugh :) || WE'RE COMING UP ON 100K WORDS I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS FUCKING WHOOPEE || yes five and two are lesbians icymi || the borg queen will forever be my "you're a great concept i just wish people wrote you from a more compelling vantage point," so i try to spice it up by emulating my own experiences with a very cult-y place i grew up in. i got better and gayer || i have a topic list goin' here if there are any xenoanthropology topics you'd like my in-universe writing to tackle, check it out here (https://twitter.com/raijuTheHyeju/status/1288969012278255616) and please let me know!!! i can't guarantee they'll make it into the fic but i always love hearing what people may be interested in seeing :) || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 4, 2391]**   
**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

> **_CH. 1, SECTION III - ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION SOCIETAL STRUCTURE - PUBLIC INTERPERSONAL/COMMUNAL OBSERVANCES_ **
> 
> _To establish the themes by which this section shall extrapolate on, allow me first to share a small anecdote from my time on the Liberated Borg homeworld._
> 
> _It was during the eighth month of my stay on Ohniaka III, a week into the Cooperation’s official beginnings of wintertime. While not unlike the biting cold I’ve experienced visiting Terra Prime’s city of Vancouver, Canada during December, or one of Andoria’s more “balmy” springtime days amidst their icy townships, I found the winds rather chilly one evening, bundling my coat to excuse myself for a quick, warming smoke from my tobacco pipe. Supervising author Junction Horus and I were waiting at a public transit stop to head to an art gallery’s recent installation from a renowned, yet elusive hard light hologram sculptor, and the cold seemed to have seeped into the soil and caused some of the newly-inlaid paving to crack around the amply-spaced stop._
> 
> _At least, this is what we postulated,_ after _I slipped and rolled my left ankle, accompanied by what I heard (and felt) to be an ungodly crack as I tumbled to the side and my pipe flew out of my hands._
> 
> _And here is where we reach the point of my needing to elaborate on this xB social outing._
> 
> _As if tossing a treat to the seagulls that flock San Francisco’s piers, I was descended on by the gathering of xBs already at the stop, a dozen murmurs of varying “are you alright?”s echoed by a host of augmented individuals crowding around me. As I clenched my teeth from the immediate pain, I remember Junction Horus confirming to bystanders everything from my name, pronouns, down to the microseconds in which my observed fall lasted. While three blocked the path so no one may accidentally cycle by or walk through my impact site, a group of six immediately circled around the offending crack in the pavement to observe it and, pulling out personal communicators and tricorders, beginning to call for something I could not hear as my attention was drawn to one one, not two, but_ three _medics Junction Horus was conversing with. One xB, even, took the time to fetch my pipe for me, studying its craftsmanship and inquiring of its nature, and I realized they were distracting me from the searing ache in my ankle that my pained face seemed to communicate._
> 
> _I realized, then, that it helped to have a culture with its highest level of societal care invested in medical and communal wellbeing, as I gave one xB permission to remove my boot and sock to examine the pained, already-swelling joint. From a suddenly-produced medical tricorder at one xB's side, the metal of the augmented hand was surprisingly caring, careful, and mindful of my initial (perhaps obvious) surprise, the crowd of xBs seemingly further fascinated by the fact I was a completely non-Reclaimed human in their world and so willing to be treated and cared for by their attendance. With one medic scanning, one affixing a cold patch, and one carefully holding my extremities, not three minutes later I was back on my feet again, the xB recommending that if I still felt soreness after the event, I replicate a cold patch with a suggested replicator serial number, or that I visit a clinic not a block from where Junction Horus and I resided, as these clinics are open 24/7 for all urgent physical and mental care. My mind, admittedly, was still processing the speed at which the xBs seemed to communally not only_ care _for my injury, but also_ remedy _the offending problem, as three xB construction workers beamed in from out of nowhere with large tools and direction from the crowd of six. By the time the transit car approached the stop, the attending group had returned to waiting as if nothing had happened at all, save for polite glances from my attending physicians (and some-still surprised, potent stares from non-human xBs)._
> 
> _Functionality, to xBs, is communal; if one aspect of the society is harmed or injured, none may proceed further. This service is not a demand, but rather willingly and almost instinctively given, as opposed to the Collective’s forced Hivemind of indenture that would have them blindly and oppressively service its needs (or even abandon/sacrifice a unit without a second microcalculation). Rather, assistance is communally delegated according to the specialties of interests that are studied per xB, their own unique talents which all assist in identifying, fixing, and remedying a problem, recalling to mind to the almost-blunt honesty of freshly-severed xBs. Individuals’ strengths make up the communities’ strength and is, like so many aspects of xB society, a paradox of refusing the Collective’s demanded suppression of individuality, but rather celebrates the unique strengths of many to create one collectively-supportive community._
> 
> _To allow the reader a satisfying narrative end to my anecdote: by the time we arrived back to the station three hours later after our outing to the gallery, the crack had been very well tended to in our absence, complete with a charmingly-small box of a construction fence surrounding the square to indicate recent, drying work._

“Thank you again, Junction Five. I apologize for my lack of awareness paid to the environment around the Commander and myself.”

The medical tricorder snapped shut as Geordi watched Engineering Junction Five look over the once-bloody spot on the Relay’s head, smushing a corner of the bandage to ensure the material was fully sealed to the Bolian xB’s visual augment near his temple and eyebrow.

“Your apology is accepted and noted. I will admit there is a… _distracting_ element to our ‘supervisor’s’ vocal machinations, but you must _also_ pay mind that you do not lose yourself to the vast amounts of information stored within that voice.” 

“Agreed,” Geordi chimed, “I _literally_ cannot understand him, and even _I_ could listen to him all day.” 

Five offered him an amused quirk of her brow and a smirk before turning her attention back to the Relay. “Report to the on-site medical Junction and their department for the remainder of your shift to ensure my treatment was adequate. I do not want one of this department’s Relays ‘down and out’ with an infection to a former augment site.” 

“U-understood, Junction. Thank you too, Commander.”  
“No problem.”

The three stood in place.   
Five tilted her head towards the corridor that led to the turbolift, the gold-and-silver pattern in Five’s headwrap glinting in the Sphere’s ambient lighting.   
And the Relay followed her inference towards the arch, Five sighing as she straightened her jaw and looked back to Geordi. 

“Thank you for immediately tending to him, Commander.”

“Happy to do it,” Geordi insisted with a wave of his hand. “I had my own cranial-based augment for a good chunk of my life- Lord knows _I_ forgot my own spatial proximity, sometimes.”

Five looked interested. “Augments _beyond_ your current ocular implants?”

“I wore a Starfleet-grade VISOR nearly four decades of my life,” the Commander crooned, opening his PADD to make a note of an on-site injury. “Finally switched it out for implants at the end of the 70’s, but there’s little things here and there you just don’t forget.” 

“Mmm.”

She paused, her blue-and-black eyes darting back and forth as if pondering something. 

“...We do not ‘see’ from too-different of perspectives, then.” 

“‘Do not see,’ whaddya me--”

Geordi, in all his five weeks of being here, was beginning to learn something about himself.  
It turned out the Commander _loved_ xBs’ sense of humor.

While he may have been sore from the day’s labors in the power redirection alcove he and Junction Five were assigned to on _Atlas,_ Geordi’s laugh managed to echo through the chamber, rivaling the rumblings of the AI’s absent musings. He wondered if he should check in with Beverly and see how she was doing, though last he caught the Captain, she was studying under Junction’s Troval’s tutelage for the _Pasteur’s_ first out of three days docking at _Solstice._ Federation-manufactured tools were being synched to Reclamation Project tech, _Pasteur_ personnel marvelled at seeing the eerie shadows of the geometric Cooperation fleet hang against the system’s sun, and Executive Director Hugh’s hosted dinner had gone as lovely as it was tasty.

One thought from yesterday’s conversation with Beverly, however, was hanging in Geordi’s mind, and it seemed to bear more weight as the day cycle turned to night.

> _“...knowing who he was- that little drone we almost sent back to firebomb his own people, and then seeing who he is today?”_

Because once Beverly had left his Ready Room to explore the rest of _Solstice,_ Geordi was left with his own thoughts, the harsh light of guilt shone painfully and brilliantly against the dark of his own conscience.

> _“Choose… what I want… --I would choose to stay with Geordi!”  
> _ _"And despite my crew’s best attempts to turn it into some kind of_ pet, _this operation will continue as planned; do I make myself clear, Mr. La Forge?”_

Why had the admittance of what he’d nearly done come so easily when he talked to Beverly? What made repeating the near act of _genocide_ to an at-the-time present friend so easy to say, and yet on further reflection Geordi felt guilt scrape at his heart for the _blatantly_ casual usage of a word like “firebomb?” Hadn’t he felt guilt about this beforehand? Of course he did; Geordi remembered being a solid wreck for _days_ after abandoning Hugh like that on the planet, Data doing his utmost best to comfort the engineer despite the loss and weighted knowledge of complicity… but Geordi didn’t deserve comfort for what he did, he realized early on. There _was_ no justification for what he almost had a hand in; no forgiveness, no apology could _ever_ absolve him of such a horrid crime against his own humanity, much less an entire _species_. So 23 years ago, Geordi remembered how he’d taken all that guilt and stuffed it into an emotional compartment he thought he’d never unpack again, relieved to leave it somewhere he would never have to face for the sake of his own mental wellbeing, lest he be swallowed by grief and horror at his own actions… 

> _"I trust you too, Geordi," Hugh said quietly. "More than you may ever know... or that I might be able to ever realize."_

In contrast to a woman who hadn’t seen them _together_ since that time in their lives, Hugh’s voice was a tumultuous rush of adoration that was dredging so much up in Geordi’s heart, and that dredging was finally starting to stir up the dark, sometimes-contaminated soil of memories and actions his past self tried so hard to bury.

Hugh trusted him.  
And Geordi, he--

...He could talk to Beverly about this once she gave him that “evaluation” he’d asked for. 

“I hope this is not too personal of a query, Commander,” Five started as his laughter evened out, “and please disregard answering if it is, but... non-xBs,” she elaborated. “What do they… humans, I mean- what have you seen others do with their ‘discarded’ augments? Your VISOR, did you… keep it? Dispose of it? Preserve it?”

“I actually have a replicated version of it in my Ready Room, if you ever wanna see it,” Geordi said, looking between his PADD and for a circuit panel that should be _somewhere_ on this wall. “The _real_ one is back on Terra Prime in my Starfleet storage. Don’t think Mom would be all too happy knowing I got rid of something that stuck with me for over half my life.”

“Your Mother?”

“Captain Silvia La Forge of the ol’ _USS Hera,”_ he mused quietly with an air of pride, _“_ may god rest her and her crews' souls.” 

“I apologize for your loss.” 

Geordi, already looking down at his PADD, firmed his lips into a tight little smile as it took a moment to bring his head up. 

“Gotta keep the love outweighing the grief, y’know.” 

“Yes, actually,” Five agreed, running a diagnostic wand over a bundling of cables. “That is a good sentiment, Commander.”

“Why do you ask though, Junction?" Geordi asked in earnest, "about my VISOR?”

“I guess I’m looking for… ‘inspiration,’ one could call it,” Five admitted, though she tilted her head upon a realization. “Hm. I have been around _Atlas_ too long; I am starting to adopt his speech patterns. But with regards to _inspiration_ ; it is less for myself, and more for my partner. ...Technically both of us, then, I suppose, considering the close proximity we share.”

“Oh? You and Relay Two of Ten, right?” 

“Yes,” she confirmed, a twinkle of admiration in her mismatched eyes. “I will... _happily_ expound more on the topic after our shifts, should you wish to hear more, but on Ohniaka III there is a subculture of xBs who keep their post-Reclamation Procedure augments. Eyepieces, limbs, hydraulics ports- a _multitude_ of implants are kept for a greater multitude of sentimental reasons. Some are given as gifts of trust between various parties, some given to relatives who have passed on, some are professionally preserved or given to the Reclamation Project for further study... Two and I, we-- did not keep any of our former pieces after our procedures. It was a traumatic period in our lives we would rather not be reminded of in our home. But after our encounter with Queen 127, Two recently had an augment that superficially supported her Tibia… ‘dislodge’ itself,” Five said with a face, “from her body, and she has healed sufficiently since its removal.”

“And you’re both trying to decide whether or not you should keep it,” Geordi deduced. 

He took Five’s huffed silence as confirmation. 

And Geordi remembered seeing the pained glances Two gave Five from the wall as the Junction desperately worked the Queencell console, Two’s shin broken under the EV suit and the offending cable strewn about the cold floor.

“You two were from the same alcove, right?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “The only surviving drones a Cooperation scout ship was able to bring out of stasis from a destroyed Borg cube wreckage near Tellarite space five years ago. Additionally, we were former shipmates together of the destroyed _USS Lalo_ before the Battle of Wolf 359,” Five told him, her eyes half lidded in thought as she worked, “though we do not remember much of our lives before assimilation; both in service to Starfleet or Terra Prime.” 

She paused.

“Pieces come back to us here and there.” 

Geordi chose his next words carefully. “...Were you... both together _before_ your assimi--”

“No.”

Five looked up after a small pause.

“I can specifically remember _wanting_ to be, however. And I am pleased to report she shares… or, 'shared,' similar sentiments.”

Geordi’s allowed a grin to crack through.

“I’m humbled you’d ask me for an opinion on something that sounds pretty personal for you both,” the Commander started, “and I don’t want to speak over your partner, but… maybe keeping _this_ one could be good for you both. You both helped bring a _Queen_ into custody and possible rehabilitation and deprogramming; that’s not something a lot of people get to lay claim to, not to _mention_ this operation _is_ a pretty big deal for both the Federation and Cooperation. I’d like to hope this, currently, is a better time in your both’s lives now, so… if you keep it? Two gets a little souvenir of her bravery, and _you_ get to tell her how cute it looked both _on_ her before, _and_ how neat it’ll look above the mantle back home on Ohniaka III. ...Or. _Wherever_ xBs keep their augments- I haven’t gotten to that part in my readings yet. ...If there _are_ any.”

From the look of it, Five had plenty of questions for Geordi as to what were some of the institutions he made with his very human metaphors.  
But she seemed to settle on something, shutting the panel as she stuffed her diagnostic tool back in her side pouch. 

“I believe you said it best earlier, Commander,” she resolved. “‘You must balance out the love with the grief.’”

A pang of guilt strummed at Geordi’s core as it swirled his gut with all the adored, burdened memories his heart could take.

“Something like that, yeah.” 

She gave him a nod. “Thank you. I will offer her the proposal.”

“Ohhhh, a ‘proposal’ now!” Geordi decided to tease in a chuckle, “I see, I see; I didn’t even know xBs also performed _marriage_ ceremonies! See this is why I _love_ working in Engineering; you get to hear everything _first_ with the crew~”

“I mean I-- had been, considering, since we were both human, and-- Commander, do not--!” 

Geordi yawned as if his body responded to seeing the chronometer, waving his hand in assured protest. “Engineering’s also the best for _another_ reason, Junction- they can be damn good secret keepers _.”_

_Oh, wasn’t that a painful truth._

As Five was about to reply, a voice broke through Geordi’s commbadge.

“ _Starbase_ Solstice _Containment Chamber 4 to Commander Geordi La Forge! Commander: respond!”_

The Containment Chamber?  
Oh no-

Geordi immediately plapped his chest with a commbadge chirp. “I’m here, go ahead-” 

_“She is requesting a meeting again, Sir;”_ came in an Ensign’s stressed voice, _“Queen 127 has emerged from stasis as of two minutes, 15 seconds ago, and wishes to speak to Executive Director Hugh again.”_

Geordi looked up and met Five’s own widened, shaken gaze. 

They all knew it was going to happen, eventually.

But amidst the fleeting anxiety, apprehension, and uncertainty that had been bubbling below the surface while the Queen slept and was now threatening to rage into a boil, Geordi suddenly remembered how late it was, sighing as a palm went to rub at his face. 

This was gonna be a long night, wasn’t it.

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_ **   
**~~[CLASSIFIED LOCATION]~~ **

“Well…”

Hugh couldn’t hold back a large, drawn-out yawn, taking a long sip of his Puerh tea thermos.

“Good morning to you. ...and good evening for _me_.” 

“We do not have a currently synched chronometer.”

“Hm? Ah, right, you wouldn’t have--” Hugh realized with a sigh. “It is currently 2215, Stardate 68761.44. My apologies.” 

“That is not what you need to apologize for.”

“Oh?” Hugh piqued. “What might that be?” 

“Not granting our request.”

“...What req-- oh, I’m. ...alright, let’s--”

_To die._

The Director sighed.

This was going to be a long night, wasn’t it.  
And it _certainly_ wasn’t going to start off with Hugh apologizing for refuting proposed regicide.

The Director was actually intending to retire _early_ for the evening, as he was on Medical Resource duty tomorrow onboard _Iota_ to help calibrate Federation supplies to Cooperative tech’s energy wavelengths. But that all changed when, an hour and a half ago, Queen 127 erupted from her sleep and requested an audience with Director Hugh again, pulling all Geordi, Vorik, Crosis, Troval, and now Captain Crusher to stand in attendance on the other side of the holo-program. Troval and Crusher, eyes bagged from a full day’s worth of Reclamation Procedures and familiarization of terminology on the Captain’s behalf, appeared the _most_ tired out of attending personnel, Crosis and Geordi providing the doctors with refreshments to keep their spirits (and energy) up. Vorik was, stunningly, the last to arrive despite typical Vulcan timeliness, smelling of Seh’lohn incense after what he explained was from his and V’evik’s interrupted meditation session (although no one complained about the beautiful scent that now filled the observation chamber). For Hugh, it helped to have an encouraging pep talk beforehand, and with a quick review to his notes and refilling his own thermos with Puerh tea from the replicator, Hugh felt (or rather hoped) he was ready for session number two.

After rambling off the recording introduction and declaring the “statements had begun,” the Director settled back into his chair, offering a pleasant, reserved grin to the Queen’s head out of the metaphorical jar.

“Regarding this meeting's circumstances,” Hugh began, "may I ask you something?"

She allowed a pause to hang. “We will answer.”

“Why did you emerge from stasis, 127?” Hugh asked gently. “Was it _really_ just to ask me why we haven’t killed you yet?” 

“Yes.” 

And Hugh was about to take that as an answer before he watched Queen 127 purse her lips, the Queen’s focus glancing around the holographic “surfaces” of the room.

“...No.” 

“Then what for?” 

She paused again, seemingly roiled in her own thoughts.  
The Queen's eyes locked onto the thermos, watching Hugh as he was about to set it back onto the table.

“What are you drinking?”

Hugh looked at and examined the cylinder, tucking the original question into his pocket for later recall. “Mm. Puerh tea, actually.”

“We are… _somewhat_ aware of this beverage. Cultivated from the _camellia sinensis_ leaf of Terra Prime, and fermented in either buried tablet, ‘cake,' or ‘loose-leaf’ format left to age in large chambers, where oxygenation or richness of the soil it is associated with impacts the flavor. It is described as ‘harsh, strong, dirty with multiple supplemental flavor profiles,’ and has high levels of the stimulant known as ‘caffeine.’” 

Hugh offered her a small raise of the thermos with an impressed raise of his brow. “Most thorough.”

“Why consume this?” she asked. “Enduring something bitter and ‘earthy’ in taste, even though you do not require it for functionary intake- it is not efficient.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say there’s _no_ function to be found whatsoever,” Hugh remarked, sitting up somewhat as he spoke. “I feel it… helps me in my performance after a regeneration cycle, the chemical compound caffeine has a beneficial, if slightly ‘energizing’ effect on my mental processing prowess, _and_ I appreciate the various levels of craftsmanship that go into creating different formats of this tea. For example; there are still ‘cakes’ in the soil that have been buried for _hundreds_ of human years, one plot I know of sealed for another _nine_ until they believe it is ready for consumption. 200 years, can you believe it! I, _may_ or may not have a slot reserved for myself once it is unearthed, admittedly. The brewing methods are also very ‘methodical;’ it is a process, almost a ritual for myself when by myself or I have company. But most of all,” Hugh mused and, popping the tab again, he offered her a reserved grin. 

“Because I like it.”

Hugh took a sip as he watched her form a response.

“You _like_ it.”  
“Yes.”   
“Why?” 

Hugh mulled on this question before he realized: “Did I not just... tell you?” he asked in return. “Is my previous explanation not enough justification for preference? For liking?”

“This is a paradox,” the Queen replied. “You do not know the qualities of something until you have sampled it. It is possible you may not ‘like’ the object, sensation, whatever it may be- until you have interacted with it. An unproductive use of time and resources.”

Hugh pointed with a confident little grin. “‘Don’t knock it until you try it,’ I’ve heard the phrase go. Not to mention the very _nature_ of xBs has been found to be quite 'paradoxical' itself.”

The Queen squinted with hints of a frown at his platitudes.

At least _Hugh_ thought he was being charming (if the chuckles on the other end of his earpiece were anything to confirm by).

“I feel inclined to remind you, 127,” Hugh relinquished, sitting up a bit straighter, “you still have not answered my original question. What... brought you out of stasis?”

She thinned her lips again.

And she looked around the room- all its makeshift walls, lights, sounds, and environments… and glanced back to Hugh again, her eyes sending a small shiver through his augmented spine.

“We will answer this question if station Commander Geordi La Forge enters our audience for this… Consultation.’”

Hugh hated how much he could feel surprise, shock, confusion, and… what else was it- fear? Apprehension? Reservedness?, paint his features at her request, the Director left with only one question on his lips in response to the former despot as he sat up straighter to respond. 

The indiscernible murmurs over his earpiece didn’t help, either.

“I ah…” he managed after a quick nibble of his lower lip. “May I ask... why? Why would you-- want the station Commander to-"

She simply smirked in the likeness of a phrase that, as he’d heard from a Starfleet officer, was similar to a “shit-eating grin.”

“‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’”

As Hugh’s expression flattened and his fingers drummed the desk, he supposed there was a _reason_ her species was able to secure such integrated tyranny within the Collective.

_It helped to be a fast learner._

So he puffed his cheek in 218 microcalculations while hearing a _“Hugh?”_ on the other end of the earpiece’s line.

“Would you-- excuse me, for a moment?” Hugh asked, holding up a pointer finger. “I must discuss this wi--”

“Go,” she shrugged (as much as a head and shoulders _could_ by themselves ). “It is yet another fallacy of this form of existence, we suppose; the need to- _confirm_ things with separate beings.”

“Consent is a vital aspect in the preservation of individual sanctity, 127,” Hugh reminded, scooting out from the desk.

“Ah. How inefficient.”

Hugh frowned.   
_Sounds about right for the Borg._

Out loud, he spoke with a forced, polite smile. “I will return shortly.” 

And as Hugh passed down the faux corridor and exited the holographic realm’s sealed door, the mental fog began to clear after the initial surprise of her request died down, and Hugh realized the group on the other end had been chattering this whole time. 

Most notably, he was too late to catch Captain Crusher’s words of “ _Hugh wait, he’s coming down there already,_ ” and the Director bumped into the Commander in the tight decon hallway as apologies suddenly tumbled out of his mouth.

“Oh god Hugh,” Geordi babbled, “sorry, I’m--”  
“Ahaha, no no, I-I should’ve been listening--”

The two, separated by the observation chamber’s door and the sealed holo-program’s entrance, were alone in a very tiny, U-shaped hallway.

“I didn’t expect her to ask me that.” 

“I don’t think anybody did,” Geordi relinquished. “Beverly was a little concerned, but everyone gave me their blessing to go ahead.” He paused, looking to Hugh and locking eyes with the xB. “Do I have _yours?_ ” 

The Director firmed his lips. 

“As long as you’re willing to endure this.” 

Geordi shook his head once with a grin. “Not gonna let my operation co-manager take all that verbal flack if he’s given the chance to share it.” 

Despite the adoration that suddenly nestled its weight on his shoulders, Hugh paused, holding a finger to Geordi as he stepped back some.

“She will make… _every_ attempt to try and manipulate you,” he warned. “If you think what she’s trying to do to _me_ is horrid, imagine what she will try to do to you- someone who’s not been a _part_ of the Collective. There are... _libraries’_ worth of cultures in her head, with all their strategies for wordsmithing, warping, all of it stored for employment of tactical twisting and--”

“Hey.”

Geordi’s hands suddenly rose up to take Hugh’s pointing hand in a sweet, supportive grip, as if anchoring the xB to the world he did not want to leave and the Queen was threatening to pull him back into.

“I’ve got an inkling, after watching you. And I _think_ I can safely say that while she’s _manipulating,_ she’s asking questions. And so are you. Questions that may lead to…” Geordi bobbed his head, “what would you call it- ‘furthering individuality?’ ‘Deprogramming?’”

Hugh’s free hand found the cognition to wiggle a flat palm. “Admittedly, not a bad way of phrasing it.”

“Thanks. But I’ve been watching, Hugh. Crosis, Vorik, Troval, even Bev now- we’re all watching over you. For most of us, it’s been _one_ session, and we see what she’s been trying to pull, and you’re handling it better than some… well. _Almost_ compared you to Starfleet officers, but that’s not exactly the most _apt_ comparison for things the Reclamation Project deals with, is it,” the Commander mused. “So let me just say you’re doing great- how about that. If she gets too combative? We just get up and leave like you did. I _hope_ it doesn't come to that, but we should only take so much.” 

Geordi let out a deep sigh, then: “I told them all it’d be alright. We already put my name down in the archival logs, Troval’s got the sensor hookup started, Vorik’s taking my place in sensor scans- it’s taken care of. Admittedly, I- kinda wondered if I was ever going to participate in one of these, considering circumstances. And Hugh, from what I’ve seen of _you_ ,” Geordi told him, “I’ve been watching _one_ of- if not _the_ best, Reclamation Consultation personnel I could hope to reference.”

Geordi’s words were so much for an individual heart to bear. 

A realization, a vision, dream, desire threatened to choke his thoughts and pull Hugh out of his work-orientated stream of consciousness- the longing for Geordi to cusp his face and pull him into a deep, assuringly sweet kiss during this moment of weakness, to embrace Geordi tightly in return in a corridor where no one else could see and where cameras weren’t pointed and Geordi could leave another deep bruise just below his uniform’s collar--

Oh, _god_ (as some Starfleet personnel swore)- how powerful that vision was.  
 _Focus, Hugh-_ focus, _damn it!  
_ So instead, the Director’s free hand went to join the one Geordi held so sweetly. 

“We go together,” was all Hugh could muster. “I make it sound dramatic, but-” 

“You act like I _mind_ dramatics.”

And that brought out a much needed smirk of levity that made Hugh’s face crease and crinkle in delight around his remaining implants. 

“I _may_ have noticed.” 

“Whatever she says,” Geordi promised, “whatever she may dredge up- let’s work through it. A Queen’s only as powerful as her seized resources, and she doesn’t have much. So… let’s process it. Go with the flow. Let’s--”

“‘Cooperate?’” 

And Hugh’s reserved delight turned into a full-on smile of a shared laugh as Geordi did the same, the Commander letting go of Hugh’s hands to smack him playfully on the shoulder with a little “shut up” peppered into his chuckle.

“Are you ready?”

Hugh loathed how much he could feel how his mouth waver, biting his lip in restraint.  
And according to his enhanced vision, Hugh could tell Geordi’s heart rate and blood pressure was elevated.  
He would be lying to himself if said it was just merely nerves from the Queen.

“Yeah,” Geordi affirmed, giving him one more nod. “Are you?”  
“As much as I’ll ever be.” 

So, with one more deep breath shared between them, Hugh shuffled to the side and allowed Geordi a way in, the two passing through the hallway and into the decon chamber, and Commander La Forge stepped into the Consultation chamber.

“Queen 127,” Geordi proclaimed, putting on a wide, political smile. “Lovely and quite _relieving,_ if I may say, to be meeting you _without_ a phaser rifle in hand.”

“Commander Geordi La Forge,” the Queen confirmed. "A 'pleasure,' we are sure."

"I'd hope so!" he chimed, taking a quick seat in a newly-created holographic chair. "You're the one who asked for me, after all. What's the reason, if I may inquire? The chance to talk to an officer of the Federation _without_ kidnapping them? My charm? Maybe wanted to get a look at _this_ handsome mug?" Geordi boasted with a motioning, waving hand. 

Hugh would be lying if he said he wasn't thankful for the levity Geordi was trying to offer.

“We have our reasons," she sneered, obviously unamused by the Commander's portrayed confidence. "We know what information we assimilated from various _Enterprise-D, E,_ and Starfleet personnel about you, as well as Locutu--”

“Ah-ah,” Geordi corrected, “that is _not_ Admiral Jean-luc Picard's name and you know that. If you _really_ wanted to take a jab the Admiral, you could call him 'mon Capitan,' but I think that name's reserved for someone else at this point.”

The Queen gave Geordi a flat look.

“Are you going to walk out on us like Director _Hugh_ did if we continue to refer to Locutus in this ma--”

At the mere _beginning_ of saying Picard's Borg-given name, the chair made a little whine against the floor as Geordi stood up halfway and locked eyes with the Queen, the Commander freezing in place as she halted her speech. 

Queen 127’s eye roll was nearly palpable in its irritation. 

“We are beginning to conclude that having you _both_ in attendance is not only _insufferable_ , but also perhaps a mistake.” 

“Ohhh, but who was the one who _asked_ for me!” Geordi pointed out, sitting back down with a pleased and polite smirk on his lips. “Congratulations, Ma’am- you have the operation managers for whatever you'd like us.” 

Hugh grinned at hearing Crosis chuckle and Beverly crooning a _“Commander La Forge..."_ laced with love on the other end of his earpiece.

“‘Operation managers,’” she repeated, “is this the terminology by which we refer to the pillaging and plundering of our starship?”

“It wasn’t exactly _going_ anywhere,” Hugh reminded her, “not to mention your unimatrix was collapsed, main propulsion systems broken, weapons offline, sphere-wide life support at 30%, and the hull was covered in so many tachyon particles it would have contaminated this entire system.”

"Not to mention we're five weeks deep in repairs and retrofitting now- we're not just 'hollowing it out' or anything."

"Alongside 537 salvaged xBs." 

“Mmm, not to _mention,_ ” Geordi offered, “we’re right on the border of the Alpha-Gamma Quadrant- still in Federation-Bajoran space, technically, but the Cardassians may have been _incredibly_ keen on being _much_ less nice to you and the drones if they’d found you instead, and this were _not_ in Federation-Bajoran space.” 

“They would not have had the chance to investigate further, had you let us continue the self destruct sequence.”

Geordi hummed a sigh. “We’re a little past that now, don’t you think.”

The Queen huffed, her eyes darting between the two.  
Hugh didn’t think she’d be this keen on sensing the extra confidence boost Geordi gave him.   
It was nice.

“Now,” Hugh picked up, settling more into his chair and looking back to the Queen, “did you want to ask us your question?” 

“Yes, actually; perhaps the Federation will be more willing to listen to politically-circumstantial requests.”

“I mean I can _try_ , depending on what it is,” Geordi allowed, shrugging as Hugh finished off the last of his thermos tea. “There’s no _guarantee_ since you’re _technically_ not a Queen anymore, so. Federation-granted political asylum is happily given, but depends on what you're wanting. _And_ sometimes what's on the other end, but that's besides the point.” 

“So you would be content to take that away from us, then,” she alluded, “that title of 'Queen.' The one scrap of a claim to ‘individuality’ and ‘unique identity’ that Director Hugh would be all too happy to shove down our throat- and demean that for the sake of a technicality-laced jab. Delightful.” 

Geordi gave a quiet sigh. "Look- you _asked_ for me, and _I'm_ being honest about what I'm able to do for you. Hugh is the Executive Director- the Federation is just..." Geordi waved his hand, "a benefactor, I guess you could say. Sponsor. Administrative partner. Now: would you still like ask me your big question or not?"

“No…” she shook her head, her gaze fixed on the Commander. “No, we don’t think we will. Not right now. Because that’s what this all is, is it not? An interview? An experiment? You, watching us from wherever the other side of this chamber is,” she continued, “you think you could _waltz_ in with your polite little humor and look on me as another chess piece Starfleet has knocked over?”

"You're certainly being a little harsher in tone, 127," Geordi said with a frown, "I'd like to _not_ be toyed with when I come into somewhere to try and help or improve a situation, but that's just me. Just-- tell me what I can do for you. I want to help, I'd _like_ to help as much as Hugh is, but I can only do so much."

"'Toyed' with, an interesting word choice," the Queen noticed, "blocks _would_ be what you imagine when you draft plans for war against our vessels." 

"Oh, remind me," Geordi asked now, licking his lips in frustration, " _who_ was it that started the Species 8472 War, again?"

Her eyes immediately widened as Hugh realized Geordi _definitely_ struck a sensitive nerve.

“You think this little coalition of yours can last?” she scoffed, looking to Hugh. “You? Simple _waste_ from the Collective that refused to be dealt with, and an empirical faction bent on spreading its influence as far as you may reach? How different are you from us? How many plans, Hugh, do you think the Federation has tried to _concoct_ to wipe us from the face of the galaxy?” she smarmed, “how many Starfleet officers do you think we have assimilated, their last thoughts _cursing_ our very existence as we process and assimilate all the different scraps of plans you've tried to poison our network with--”

“That’s enough, please-” Geordi huffed. 

Queen 127 scoffed at Geordi. “What could you possibly mean to him, Director?” she shook her head, “Other than just being a necessary formality by which to plunder our technology. Our resources. You could have _killed_ them all with your beautiful augments. Cube 5219’s compliment could have _slaughtered_ an entire armada, but you burnt our sister in your _unnatural_ existence and squandered your gifts."

Memories of a long-gone Ohniaka III lurched in Hugh's memory from his days of ignorance.

> _"_ This _is what the Federation gave me! Gave us!"_  
>  _"Kill them! Kill them all, take it all for yourselves! SHOW THEM WHO IS SUPERIOR!"_  
>  _"My friend, Geordi- how is he?"_

"How lucky you are, Hugh;" the Queen continued to spit as Hugh's mind walked a dangerous rope, "that in all your weak, false, pathetic existence, that they didn’t just let you _die_ and leave you in that pit, and save you all this trouble--”

“That’s _enough!”_

He hadn’t heard Geordi yell that loudly since their flight to stop _Atlas’_ self-destruct sequence. 

And as Hugh glanced quickly to see but a flicker of Geordi, his heart broke for the Commander at his side who looked internally distraught in an unnamed… what was it?

Weight?   
Fear?  
Guilt?

A weight, a fear, a guilt of _what?_

> _[From him?]_

“You are being actively antagonistic, 127,” Hugh remarked through tight lips, “I cannot, _we_ cannot converse further with you if you are being actively abusi--” 

“We do not care!” she fired back, _“_ Let us _die_ then, idiot; grant us our initial request! Save yourself the trouble and be _rid_ of us so we do not have to listen to this… unproductive,” she scoffed, “vacuous, _inefficient_ way of existence--”

It was at this moment, then, that a sliver of Hugh’s clarity returned to him, hearing both footsteps _and_ all Troval, Crosis, and Vorik questioning (and protesting).

 _“Captain Crusher-”  
_ _"Captain?”_ _  
__“Captain I don’t know if you should--”_

And as they turned to face the opening doors in the hologram-laced walls, in marched Captain Beverly Crusher, her face quite firm and an emotion Hugh had no name for rattling behind her eyes as her blue CMO coat wafted out behind her in contrast to her Command Red. 

“Beverly Crusher,” the Queen crooned, shucking off the venom she’d been toting for a elegant head raise. Geordi whipped around to see his old friend, mouthing a silent 'Bev what are you doing,' if Hugh's visual UI read Geordi's lips correctly. “What an honor it is, to--”

“No, no, _please_ don’t do me the honor of an introduction, ‘Your Highness,’” Beverly rolled her eyes at, waving a hand as if to dismiss the petty drawl. “Commander, Director- may I use either of your chairs, please?” 

Almost in perfect sync, both Geordi _and_ Hugh rose up and out of their chairs as if they were superheated steel, the men now flanking behind her as she pulled up and took a very… spider-like seat? Hugh was almost amused at how _wrong_ the Captain sat in the chair; her legs bent and criss-crossed every which way, an elbow propping up her chin as she grinned at the queen. 

“It’s _Captain_ Beverly Crusher now, by the way. But pleased to make your acquaintance, Queen 127.”   
“We did not request your presence, _Captain_ Beverly Crusher.”  
“I’m a doctor; sometimes we make ‘unexpected house calls’ for the sake of our patients.”   
“A gross over-abuse of power, it seems like.”   
“Oh, well- aren’t _you_ one to fucking talk, dear~.” 

Crosis belted out a hard laugh on the other end of the earpiece as Troval made an equal exclamation of shock, and Hugh even heard Geordi _barely_ hold back a snort.

Admittedly, the Director had trouble balancing the humor of her bluntness with the possibly delicate situation at hand.

“Now look,” the Captain said, leaning into the table and pointing a finger at the Queen. “I am _very_ tired, I _very_ much want to go to bed, and _you_ are making these very nice men stay up for your own obvious amusement and toying with. You may have their platitudes strung up for diplomacy’s sake and for everyone to see, but I know what you’re doing and I don’t like it one bit. These men, _both_ of them,” Crusher told her, “one is… I have too many words- too much history and too much love and respect in my heart for what Commander La Forge means to me. And the other is a man I pulled out of the snow and rubble from a dinky little scout ship crashed out in the middle of _bumfuck nowhere_ , going _god_ knows where, and _he_ and _all_ these xBs are here because of the _Collective’s_ failings to bring _him_ and wher _ever_ his tertiary were going. _The Collective_ did not help him. _I_ did. _The Enterprise-D_ crew did, _Commander La Forge_ did- and even if we _may_ have considered ulterior motives in the beginning as an unknown enemy, we did not _carry out_ those impulses like you’ve so casually and carelessly without a second, fleeting thought of a microsecond towards mercy _.”_

As stunned as Hugh was, he had to make a note to ask Geordi _or_ Captain Crusher later as to exactly _what_ ‘bumfuck’ meant in this context.   
He could _fathom_ a guess, but why was it in relation to a “place” of “nowhere?”

The Queen’s jaw shuddered and her brow furrowed in angered disbelief at the woman's defiance. _“_ We--”

“No! Nooononono, you’re not getting to do that with me,” she insisted. “No, stop that- you forfeited that right when you were a right devil to these two. If you were _ignorant_ to it, then certainly I would allow you that patience; but you are _not_ ignorant _,_ by your very institution’s existence and my own dealings with your regency. _You_ are not the Collective anymore. _You_ are not a ‘we’ anymore, as hard as that may be for you to hear; because a _Queens’_ idea of ‘ _we’_ was hoarding the drones you lorded over for your own comfort and control. I _saw_ what you did to… my patients, my crew, my _Captain,”_ Crusher dueled, “the augment plates I had to peel back and psychosomatic scans I had to perform, patients weeping at their own true selves surfacing after days, months, _years_ of suppression, having to make sure my Captain and my _patients_ wouldn’t _fall over on duty_ from the sheer trauma you inflicted upon them! I would never say such… harsh words to a drone, because they were and are undoubtedly _victims._ But you _,”_ Beverly posed, Hugh watching the Queen’s teeth gnash in defiance, _“you_ were not a drone. _You_ were never subjugated under someone for their own beck and call. _You_ were never steered by a tyrant to go out and try to undo three hundred plus years worth of my planet's history," Beverly now rose up some at the table, leaning on both her hands, "the _galaxy's_ history, for your _own_ vengeance and vindictiveness, because I _saw_ all that happen and I am _tired_ of watching billions die for the sake of your own selfishness!” 

Hugh watched Beverly with all the reverence of a guardian angel, the Director’s mouth hanging open at her brazen defiance as the Queen’s jawline stretched thin in her own grimacing.

"We gave _order_ to the Collective!" _  
_"You _conquered_ it through your own selfish desires!" _  
_ _"We are the Collective’s law!”  
_ _"_ You Queens are _just_ as much of a paradox as you accuse Hugh of being," Beverly parried, "An equal Hivemind does not _exist_ if there is an implied regency within it!" _  
_ _"We are Species 125!”  
_ "Oh, and a _whole_ lot of good that’s done you! Where is your _planet_ , your _people,_ your culture or their livelihoods!? All absorbed, obliterated, _erased_ for the sake of perfection, you _murderer_!?”

**_“I am NOT-- !”_ **

The room -even the observation chamber- suddenly went quiet.  
Hugh was, admittedly, impressed that it only took them till Session #2 to reach this crux.

As if realizing what she herself had just hollered at the Captain, the Queen’s eyes went wide and she glanced back towards the Commander and Director, trying to save face and failing miserably. Attempting to puff up her shoulders, she would not look Beverly in the eyes anymore, resorting instead to staring Hugh and Geordi in the face and her eyes darting to and fro between the two in all anger, humiliation, and a silent relinquishing of her fanciful power.

“Well Commander, Director,” Captain Crusher huffed, straightening herself in the chair before turning around to face them…

Beverly’s eyes were heavy despite the radiant, confident grin she tried to bear for them both. 

“I do believe I’ve finished what I had to say to your guest.”

And Hugh’s brows creased upwards to offer her whatever he could silent support.

Geordi instantly offered his hand to help Beverly out of the chair, Hugh listening absently to the two talk of “no no, I’ll be alright, you finish what you need to with him,” Geordi offering sweet assurances of camaraderie before returning to Hugh’s side.

“Well, then…” Hugh sighed, “We still, after all this time- feel obligated to answer your question, 127. ...Why did you emerge from stasis.”

Her eyes were hollow and her stare pointed at nothing in particular, affixed to the ground and lost in her own thought. 

“This existence… it is so quiet,” she said. “So absent. So emptying. There is nothing to have. To take. It is-” 

“‘Lonely?’” 

The word had practically leapt out of Hugh’s chest. 

She looked to him with scorn, anger, defeat, and a residual loathing… but it was laced with an understanding that this, indeed, could not continue. 

So Hugh took a deep breath in.

“I was very lonely too. And perhaps that sounds… cheap, superficial, even childish to say,” Hugh admitted, “it was true. It was horrid.” 

“Then kill me.”

“You are _not_ alone, however,” Hugh continued. “As a Queen, you... collected and forced so many drones to make you _not_ lonely anymore. But if you were separated, just even for a fraction of a second… you would lose _everything_ the instant you were apart from, or even _disrupted_ the waters in that great, vast sea. Cut off, just like that. Just as… you may feel now. And now that you are here- here with… me, Commander La Forge, _hundreds_ of personnel who are willing to help you… there is no greater joy than being a reason people come _to_ you. Willingly. Not obligated or forced by some higher power to come and to stay, but… because they wanted to. And that, _that-_ is the true opposite of loneliness.” 

“A ‘community,’” Geordi finished for Hugh, eyes still fixed to the ground as his hand rested on his chin. “A community that I am astounded every day by the fact the Cooperation has built all this for themselves in a mere 23 years. You have plenty of people offering you a _chance_ to be a part of that community, 127; to let your life start, by _yourself,_ as your own voice- but the _power_ to make a choice isn’t for you to use for other things. _That_ power of voice, of individuality, lets you choose to be good towards others. _Do_ good towards others. ...Be better than you used to be.”

Hugh’s chest filled with an unnameable weight as Geordi’s works sank farther and farther downward into a beautiful, welcoming pit of inner warmth.

Despite your… former institution, Queen 127,” Hugh tried to offer her gently, “we are not so different, you and I.”

And she looked to him with all the might a former empress could.  
A younger, freshly-severed Hugh would’ve called her gaze terrifying.

“More than you would ever know, Director.”

But after 23 years of building his own temple, he knew better than to bend his knee to some false, hateful prophet.

“Then may that unspoken knowledge offer you kinship in a place where you may feel lonely.” 

She swallowed, and allowed a silence of 37 seconds to hang in the observation room.

“We... emerged from stasis,” she finally admitted, “because we wanted to converse. ...The silence was a respite, but we also found it to be... deafening.” 

“Then why don’t we schedule some meetings,” Hugh finally offered, his eyes trying to brighten despite the weight of the chamber. Just you and me, to start.”

127 pondered this.

“Once every seven days. They will be _earlier_ than this hour, if you are all going to complain this much.”

“Deal.”

“Thank you,” Geordi mumbled.

She paused once more as she straightened her chin in preparation for entering stasis.  
Her eyes darted between Geordi and Hugh once more. 

And Queen 127 looked Hugh dead in the line of sight before her face went stiff and her joints audibly adjusted into place as her “stand” lit up in regeneration, eyes closing as the whole company let out a long, hard sigh.

“Statements end. Reclamation Project Director Hugh to Solstice Containment Room 4 personnel,” Hugh called out after a tap to his badge, “Energize Queen 127 back to the regeneration pod.”

_“Acknowledged. Energizing in five seconds.”_

And although Hugh could practically feel where the dust was stirred over her now-absent place in the room, the Director took comfort, instead, in Geordi mushing his hand against his face, his closer and free hand going to grip, rub, roll, and pat Hugh’s shoulder. 

“You did good.”  
“We all did.”

“Beverlyyyyyy!” Geordi called out louder, Hugh audibly trailing after Geordi in his own playful call. “Oh, Captain, my Captain!”

“ _Oh stop, you two,”_ she chuckled with a kind little sigh. “ _Sometimes you know when both you_ and _your patients just have to let it all out.”_

 _“‘Unorthodox’ for a Reclamation Consultation, certainly,”_ Troval tried to offer in her own humor, “ _but nice job, everyone. Never thought I'd hear a Queen say 'I.'”_

 _“Indeed,”_ Vorik pointed out, _“a unique strategy that seemed to illicit a significant,_ individual _emotional response.”_

 _“Let’s hope those responses stay… well, benevolent,”_ Crosis sighed, _“it is hard enough to listen to, sometimes.”_

Hugh sighed as he heard an extra note of melancholy in the Director Second’s voice. “We’ll do our best," the Director offered through a yawn, "And that’s all we _can_ do.” 

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Hugh." Geordi gave another massive yawn, having caught it from Hugh: “Just beam me to my quarters, please; I can’t get up.”   
“May I just stay here?” Hugh played along, “someone bring my alcove and I regenerate for five days?”   
"Cheater; you can't do that and leave me alone with paperwork.”  
“You assume so little of me. Director Second,” Hugh called out during a stretch, “end the holo-SIM, please and thank you.”

Geordi’s hand flew up and his eyes snapped open, “Wait wait Crosis not ye--” 

The Commander immediately fell through the now-gone hologram chair and hit the floor with a thud and a groan.

And before Hugh could ask Geordi if he was alright, scrambling out of his metal chair to help, the Commander splayed back fully on the floor with a groan and did something the entire chamber needed very, very terribly. 

He laughed.

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 5, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_ **

Commander Geordi La Forge knew he needed three things after that meeting with Queen 127 last night: eight hours worth of sleep, another talk with Beverly, and to talk to Hugh as soon as his nerves could work up the courage to tell his fellow station manager-and-also-friend-and- _ALSO_ -really-big-crush that he'd nearly had a hand in his and the entire Collective's murder nearly 23 years ago.

The Commander and Director, after parting from Vorik, Crosis, and Troval wrapping up scan diagnostics, escorted a very-tired Beverly back to _Solstice's_ transporter pad for a good night's sleep in her Captain's Quarters aboard the _Pasteur._ In the empty chamber, she had offered them sweet words of support and praise for a job well done-and-handled, politely kissing them both on the cheek goodnight before Geordi sent the Captain on her merry way. The kindness of Beverly's gentle words was a stark rival to the anger she allowed herself to rain down on Queen 127, Geordi watching Hugh fondly rub at his cheek where she'd kissed him and beaming with a humble sense of respect and admiration. 

> _"And_ that's _why you don't_ _mess with medical starship Captains," Geordi had commented to Hugh, a smirk on his lips as he powered down the transporter._  
>  _"I find both truth and admiration in your words, Commander," Hugh noted, bringing his hand down from his cheek. "It seems as if vaccines are not their only form of 'tough medicine.'"_

For all the shit she went through, _made_ it through, and was _put_ through on the _Enterprise-D,_ that was certainly being kind to what someone like Beverly Crusher had conquered in her life.

Hugh, the attentive soul, had walked Geordi back to his quarters, escorting him down the hall in the Starfleet quarters area of the station. Their stroll back was quiet, Hugh seeming to savor the silence while the Commander stewed in his own thoughts. Thoughts of guilt, even more dredged up memories, the memories and anger and oh, _fuck,_ he still had a report to file about this meeting before they went to sleep. Geordi commented on this halfway to his quarters and, chuckling at Hugh's disgusted sigh, both ruminated on their inevitable, horrid paperwork. Geordi's mind was a racquetball court; his thoughts bouncing from banter in conversation, to his heart burdened with the actions of his past, and physical thoughts in the form of a heat on his tongue and the ache for remembering how Hugh looked at him in that tiny little hallway before they spoke to the Queen. 

> _By the time they had reached Geordi's quarters, the Commander didn't even say goodnight as Geordi opened his door. Instead, lost in both a daze from tiredness, weariness, and a daunting anticipation that superficially overrode the other two heartaches as water cooled a burn, the doorframe slid open- and all Geordi did was look back over his shoulder to Hugh, his lips tight and his steps slow, meandering towards the wall just beside the doorframe._
> 
> _Hugh's eyes widened, Geordi wondering just how many microcalculations his incredible cortical node was performing; trying to dissect his actions, implications, insinuations--_   
>  _And just before the door shut, the xB strode quickly inside with long, determined steps, rounded the doorframe to where Geordi intentionally slowed his pace, and turned on his heel to meet the Director for a deep kiss on the lips as Geordi's hands cradled Hugh's head._
> 
> _"I wanted to do that earlier so badly," Hugh whispered to him, "I'm sorry-"_   
>  _"Don't be," Geordi assured him as a hand ran over his cheek, "I could tell because I might've wanted to, also-"_
> 
> _After one more kiss, Geordi stuffed his head into the crook of Hugh's shoulder, the Commander's hands falling from the back of Hugh's head to lace around him for a standing, silent hug._
> 
> _"You're not trash," Geordi murmured, "God, I can't believe-- I shouldn't be even talking about her right now, what's wrong with me."_   
>  _"It's alright," Hugh said back. "She's not the most trustworthy source to draw reference from, anyway."_
> 
> _Geordi grinned into the fabric of Hugh's uniform._   
>  _He hoped Hugh felt it._
> 
> _"We're both tired... may we resume this later?" the Director asked sleepily._   
>  _"I'll let you know," Geordi sighed. "But of course. I think we've... both got a lot to process."_   
>  _"You are correct. But thank you for indulging me in this, Geordi. Her words lose their sting in the company of a benevolent presence."_

If only you knew, Hugh.

> _"Thank you_ also _, Director."_
> 
> _And although the wave of this short-term bliss had nearly washed back out to lay bare Geordi's chaotic, guilt-laden thoughts again, one little swell lapped the shores to give the Commander some comfort as he rested his weight against Hugh, cheek on his shoulder and standing in place as the scent of Hugh's hair filled his head._
> 
> _What would it be like to dance with him?_
> 
> _Another thought, suddenly, surged in rapid succession following the last swell, causing Geordi's hands to tighten a little more around the xB._
> 
> _"Give me time to name this.”_   
>  _“Me too. I am still-- learning. I find that I still am every day.”_

Today, thankfully, after conking out into a deep sleep from a rather taxing report filing, Geordi's thoughts seemed to be sharpened and resolved, knowing he had to speak to Hugh in some form or another before time got too far away from either Director or Commander. Preferably, before the week was up- considering how much time and energy the Queen's sessions might tax and toll on the Director himself. Geordi was working with Crosis in the _Solstice_ station, installing a testing lab in the xB Wing's Common Area for personnel to easily perform augment dissection inquiries related to machinery they'd brought back to _Solstice_ to study. With a thud, the Director Second and Commander Second placed another scanning processing unit onto the side, Geordi faux dusting his hands and cracking his back as he stood up.

"Let's take five," Geordi sighed, "I forgot how heavy those are and I'm thirsty--"   
"I concur; I need to fetch my diagnostics PADD from my quarters, I'll return shortly-"   
"Oh yeah, go for it- you're just right down the hall anyway." 

And as Geordi trotted towards the Common Area's replicator, he noticed Crosis stay in place and fold his hands (in a way similar to how Hugh did), the xB's gaze fixed onto the ground before following after the Commander with his heavy steps as he spoke. 

“Forgive me a moment- may I speak with you, Commander?” the Director Second asked, “Before you- while we had a moment, I wanted to-”

“Ah- yeah, certainly Crosis,” Geordi assured, “what’s up? And if this about the chair again, I _swear_ , it’s fine-” 

“I had _just_ come to terms with that, Mr. La Forge- please!” Crosis humored. “But no, I ah… amusingly enough, it _stemmed_ from something regarding yesterday, though. Slightly related, but Queen 127 left me... pondering something. Something I’d started pondering when Captain _Crusher_ first arrived here, admittedly, but the Queen’s talk solidified my need to at least just- say something regarding it.”

The way the Director Second spoke was always genuinely soothing due to his voice’s naturally boisterous depth, but the melancholy note made Geordi turn to look Crosis in the eye as he spoke while the replicator summoned some water. 

“Whatever this ‘something’ is, Director Second,” Geordi told him, “I appreciate the time I can see you’ve put into reflecting on it. You can tell me- what’s on your mind, Crosis.” 

The xB readjusted his stance and took in a breath. 

“I wanted to acknowledge the hand I had in nearly helping murder you 23 years ago.”

Geordi swallowed. 

_Right._

The Commander, inadvertently, felt himself puff up in contrast to Crosis’ height, watching the xB’s gnarled hands fold over themselves and squeeze the joints and augments of his knuckles. 

Hands that once forced him into Lore’s operating table.  
Hands that, while he was deathly curious about for their size, strength, and contrasting gentleness, were hands that nearly choked the life out of him. 

Maybe that’s what made them so kind-looking? 

“You’ve... changed,” Geordi allowed Crosis, his eyes fluttering shut as he tried to ward off remembering what a VISOR headache felt like. “You all have. And so have I, we-”

> _"I just think we should be clear about that. We're talking about annihilating an entire race."  
> _ _"Which under most circumstances would be unconscionable, but as I see it, the Borg leave us with little choice."_

Geordi’s head shook some and his leg bounced in place. 

“I’d like to hope we’ve all changed. I mean… you, look what you’re doing here now,” Geordi assured, “for xBs, for an amazing culture you’ve all built. The fact you’re even willing to work with me speaks volumes for that. It’s… yeah, it hurt. A lot, back _then_. But it hurts a lot _less, now,_ knowing the people who were controlled for it are doing a whole lot of good on their own.”

“I hope you can find in your heart to understand the context of my actions at the time,” Crosis said, “I simply- realized I never properly apologized to you, Commander. It has been so long, time likes to think it can shirk us of responsibility, but… what you went through was damaging. Physically, mentally, emotionally- I inflicted harm onto those who did not deserve it. ...I would like to think myself as no _longer_ ignorant. And _if_ I am, I am always at least trying to learn. But you will find, Commander,” Crosis continued, “or perhaps you’ve _already_ noticed… that xBs hold personal honesty in a high regard. We may reject the smothering nature of the Collective, but not its inherent nature of openness and connectivity. We worked, for a reason. Not-- working in the most _benevolent_ of ways, of course. But.” 

Geordi had paused, feeling his grin grow as he looked up to the Director Second.

God, he was a tall bastard.

“I’m glad you’ve been able to be there for Hugh through the years, Crosis,” Geordi had told him. “You’ve made yourself into a better person than some people who were born with that privilege in the first place. And I can tell the Director cares for you deeply.” 

"You as well, Commander. I am very confident in this statement."

Geordi nodded with an unfathomable fondness in his eyes… and he took in a harsh sigh, evening his expression out into a playful grin.   
“He just likes mustaches, that’s all.”

Crosis’ hard, boisterous laugh shook _Atlas’_ very walls; so much so, that Geordi couldn’t help but catch it and join in. “Oh, I’m glad you could tell!” the Director Second finally managed. “I’ve seen it for _years_ and here _you_ notice it after five weeks being around him!”

Subconsciously, as they had talked, Geordi held his elbow and brought a fist and pointer to rub absently at his mustache, and doubletook his glance when he saw Crosis do the near exact same thing. 

The two simply smirked at one another. 

“We’re using this against him,” Geordi snickered.  
“Absolutely, Commander.” 

And after another round of chuckles, the Commander sighed. “Well,” he relinquished, “I really do appreciate it, Crosis. I’ve been kinda thinking about my _own_ stuff after everything the Queen said yesterday, so… it’s nice to know I’m not the only one that’s been pickling in my own thoughts.”

He held out one of his big, meaty hands for Geordi to shake.  
Geordi took Crosis’ big, meaty hand to shake, amazed at how careful his touch was despite their size.  
And the Commander knew how much his people valued intended touch. 

“An amusing choice of words, Commander,” Crosis noted at “pickling” as he shook the Commander’s hand, “but I thank you for your understanding and willingness to listen. Honesty in tangible circumstances is a grounded constant in life that one can’t let themselves take for granted.”

Alright, that did it.   
If it hadn’t before, it certainly had now.

But Geordi had some calls to put in first.

“You’re right.”  
“Indeed. Thank you again.”  
“And thank _you.”_

Crosis proceeded back out as he was originally going down the hall to his quarters.

Crosis was… so nice, almost a full foot taller than him, and holding his _hand,_ my _god--_

And they all liked honesty, huh?

> _”Wait- ‘ Solstice’ here, you mean?” Geordi exclaimed, “Who--?!”  
> _ _“I’ll give you two hints; he’s a head taller than us, and you and he have some of the best mustaches on this station.”_

Might as well allow himself some “superficial” honesty before he got to the gritty stuff with Hugh.

So Geordi, turning on his heel, wagged a finger and walked quickly back towards Crosis (who stopped at hearing Geordi’s encroaching footsteps). 

“Fine, then,” the Commander said as he held his finger to the xB, mumbling little “fine!”s all while he approached, “if you value interpersonal honesty _so_ much and because Hugh has probably _already_ told you of our own dealings, then I would like to tell you _right_ now that you are very pleasing, Director Second. ...or maybe I _might_ . Find you. Pleasing. ...You _are_ ? Did I deliver that right? ...Fine, you’re very hot. There.”

Geordi was red as a pomegranate.   
Crosis, the two meter tall brick house, smirked like a fiendish little cat that had stolen an entire market fish.

“Well,” Crosis chuckled, “Unfortunately, I think we're both very busy for the rest of the day.”  
“Yep- and I'm uh, still a little tuckered out from yesterday.”   
“We’ll resume this later, then?”  
“Definitely.”  
“May I include or _invite_ Director Hugh?”

Geordi’s eyes went wide.

“...As… long as you think he’d be--”  
“Oh, I know he _very_ much would be.”   
“Then by all means.”   
“Understood by mutual consent. ...You were pretty close, by the way,” Crosis humored Geordi with a nod and roll of the tongue against his cheek, “I understand the insinuation.”  
“Good, thank y--”  
“And may I say I find you very pleasing as well, Commander La Forge.” 

Geordi’s head suddenly filled with static as the xB clapped his shoulder with a hearty laugh as he walked past, Crosis’ heavy footsteps echoing through the corridor as he left Geordi in place to adjust his uniform’s collar. 

Great. That’d be a nice way to help alleviate his stress levels.

Straightening his back to clear his thoughts of some of that static, Geordi's resolve was both steeled _and_ tested in its own merit, Crosis' apology affirming only one thing for the Commander.   
The emotional box Geordi had packed and tucked away 23 years ago was in even more immediate need of opening, addressing, and confessing to Hugh.

But the Commander also knew he wasn't the _only_ one involved in this act he was going to confess.

So, with a huff, Geordi papped his commbadge and spoke: "Commander La Forge to Captain Crusher; come in, Captain." 

_"I'm here Geordi,"_ came the Captain's voice, _"go ahead-"_  
"When are you off your next shift, Bev? There's something I want your opinion on regarding yesterday's..." Geordi wiggled in place as he decided on a word, "revelations, I suppose we can call it."   
" _I'm breaking for coffee here in about 2 hours, if that works for you?"_ she hummed. " _I can get that and meet you in your Ready Room at 1300, I'm still onboard_ Solstice _with CMO Bartholomew today. Everything alright?"_  
"Yeah, I'm just..."  
  


The Commander sighed. "It's personal. And it might warrant we put in a couple calls."


	11. revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth must come out, in one way or another. Thankfully, it's made a little easier with the help of friends' counsels, but that doesn't mean relaying the actual info itself is gonna be any easier. Otherwise, the next four and a half months are going to be absolutely obnoxious. 
> 
> In which: we have confessionals, confrontations, and dreams, all laced with tears in their own different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new character tag(s) who dis :))) || not a whole lot to say about this chapter other than thanks for sticking with me. i have no idea how long this fic is going to be and considering things only ramp up from here it's gonna get bananas || i don't have the mental spoons to go digging through five billion different canons so FWIW at this point in time kestra is babby, worf is still captain of the enterprise-E, and riker is captain of the titan with troi as a commander science officer/counselor, and ofc jean-luc has FUCKED off to france with his romulan polycule || your comments and kudos give me life and know that i treasure each and every one so thank you ;_; || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 6, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE,"_ BARREN MOON TO CLASS L PLANET 'TAIJAL'**

> ** _CH. 1, SECTION IV - ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION SOCIETAL STRUCTURE - INTERPERSONAL RELATIONSHIP OBSERVANCES REGARDING COURTSHIP_ **
> 
> _While the author in me apologizes for two adjacent sections in this chapter beginning with anecdotes, the xenoanthropologist in me feels it is necessary to correlate the two happenstances by way of social observance (and I may yet convince the author that this repetition will offer a satisfying ending to this narrative indulgence)._
> 
> _Following my encounter with the near ankle-breaking crack at our transit stop, Junction Horus and I arrived at our destination of an art gallery in the Cooperation Capitol, one with a recently-installed exhibit from a little-known of ‘Progenitor xB (i.e.; a Liberated Borg from Cube 5219’s fall 22 years ago at time of 2390 publication).’ While a section later shall be elaborated upon with regards to common Liberated Borg art trends, the holographic sculpture exhibit Junction Horus and I frequented was, for a lack of better words, ‘macabre’ and ‘haunting,’ evoking graphic imagery and showing sickening abstract detail of the intricacies with regards to the Collective’s inherent invasiveness. I was informed that the artist in question, while elusive in nature, was known throughout Progenitor xBs as ‘rather blunt’ in dealing with her trauma, translating coping mechanisms into this form of art that her still-retained visual augments allowed to craft. When inquiring Junction Horus as to ‘why someone who was so obviously disturbed by the Collective’s actions in forcing augmentation upon those who did not consent chose to keep her own,’ Junction Horus merely replied with the xB proverb: ‘Honesty to the self and others makes for the best coexisting augment of all.’_
> 
> _For the rest of our tenure at the gallery, I pondered on the Junction’s words, wondering how something as simple as ‘honesty’ could correlate to one’s physical augments and how it pertains to others. As we progressed, though, it became more and more clear to me, in both my observance of the sculptures, but also to how I saw individual xBs relate to other gallery goers. More quiet conversations began to spontaneously occur between xBs who’d attended the galleries by themselves, paired or grouped xBs would show support to one who seemed more personally impacted by a certain piece; I even observed one xB escort their partner towards a Quiet Room to collect themselves and to de-escalate themselves. It was the statues’ hard light presence that begun to dreg up horrid, perhaps, but relatable memories in xBs’ shared trauma; in turn, these verbalizations of past traumas or transgressions forged stronger bonds, as I saw many disturbed or impacted individuals be lavished with physical assurances of comfort or verbal affirmations._
> 
> _As we finished the exhibit, Horus and I were sharing our thoughts outside the gallery in the cold Ohniakan winter, my attention drawn from my tobacco pipe as my supervising Junction nudged my elbow to witness an xB social exchange._
> 
> _And while I have mentioned elsewhere in this publication that xBs value romantic involvement and commitment as very “lofty, precious, and apotheosis-level societal treasure[s] (to which this will be further elaborated upon),” I must first discuss the observed phenomenon of this couple in context to my above-stated experience and realizations at the gallery._
> 
> _Either stirred by what they had seen inside or this entire setting planned with their partner’s attendance and expected reaction in mind, one xB produced some sort of augment from their satchel, showing and offering it to their partner before them. As the gifted-to xB revelled in the sight of the misshapen object (by what I could see I guessed the egg-sized augment to be the shell of a cranial hydraulics port), I was told this was a ritual xBs observed when inquiring as to whether or not they wished to enter into a romantic relationship. While commonplace enough (similar to humans’ varieties in degrees to the ways they ask to ‘date’ others, Vulcans touching two fingertips together to another's hands, etc.), xBs gifting augments to each other is a physically signified trading oneself to the other. It is a metaphorical (and literal) exchange of a physical relic as to the mental/emotional labor of relationships, to signify that they are willing to relinquish a part of themselves to complete the paradoxical nature of xBs; knowing oneself through another._
> 
> _While wholly endearing to watch, the reader_ must _be wondering, at this point, what makes_ this _specifically-observed event so significant, that I felt the need to mention it in relation to a gallery outing rendering the horrors of Borg-instilled augments. That they would associate declarations of kinship parallel to an artistic renditioning of their past hurt, that xBs would find beauty and kinship in the same technology that marred them so deeply, universally, and irreparably in both historical and personal significance?_
> 
> _Dear reader, I am pleased to tell you this: it just so happened that the xB this person was gifting themself to,_ also _had one of their own former augments with them, taking it from their pocket to the suprise of their, what I can happily assume and hope to be, now-partner._
> 
> _xB society is bound by the universal trauma, pain, and horror of individual erasure the Collective once foisted upon them; this is true. But the fact this universal trauma, pain, and horror is overcome by the triumph, joy, and beauty of who the Reclaimed/xB/Liberated Borg is today allows xB society to pursue their own, neverending, wondrous apotheosis. While this aforementioned trauma may linger in the evidence of mental anguish, emotional weariness, and/or physical evidence, there is a awestriking community that has ruptured from the harsh, if not just-as-unsettling sculptures Junction Horus and I just visited that evening. If Vulcans are bound by logic, Hirogen are bound by the hunt, and Humans are bound by diversity and the need to explore, then xBs are bound by ‘individuality supporting community:’ the transmogrification of the inescapable and horrific, into the beautiful and nirvana-like kinship they celebrate in themselves and each other._
> 
> _The Reclaimed speak of a proverb; ‘start, like all xBs do- at your beginning, wherever that may be.’ For there is no greater finality in the knowledge that you exist as the byproduct of something that once, somehow, suddenly sparked into individual existence._

“I’m calling you all in the _first_ place because we were all there. We were _all_ co-conspirators in the first place, to varying degrees-”

Beverly raised her hand and cleared her throat with a flat look to Geordi and then to the rest of the circle. 

“Okay, _one_ of us was very against it from the beginning,” Geordi allowed her with a defeated sigh. “And I _hope_ we’ve graduated to better mindsets since then. I’m still learning every day from people like Hugh, but _I’d_ like to think I’ve gotten a bit better since then.”

Beverly spoke up first. “Of course you have, Geordi.”

 _“If you can look the same people in the eye who once had a hand in hooking you up to Lore’s torture machine and happily work side-by-side with them,”_ Captain Riker spoke, _“I’m inclined to say you’re already the best of us, Mr. La Forge.”_

That meant a lot, coming from Riker.   
So Geordi allowed the Captain a humbled, bashful grin.

“Thanks, Will.” 

A heavy talk with Beverly had, a multi-quadrant time zone meeting decided upon, and a good night’s sleep later, Geordi La Forge was in his Ready Room bright and early the next day with Beverly standing at his side, the station Commander grinning at the assembly of four encircled holograms that had flickered to life not minutes before. Since this meeting was technically called on the basis of ‘non-Starfleet communication,’ it was amusing for Geordi to see his old friends in snapshots of their lives, both on and off-duty, civilian or Starfleet. There was a comfort in the affirmation that his friends were existing beyond his own (literal) sphere of Starfleet work; whether it was Deanna sending photos of an ill-fated pizza Will had left too long in his Captain’s Quarters oven, Worf adding another bat’leth to his collection, or Jean-luc sending photos of a new puppy he’d adopted (whose name they’d near unanimously voted to be ‘Number One’), they were all continuing on in their own unique ways, Geordi happy to review whatever messages he may have missed during a hard day’s work. Before his request for their currently-beginning meeting, Geordi’s last post in their group chat from a few days ago was a selfie with him, Hugh and Beverly, the caption of “Reunion” drawing all surprise, delight, and amazement from everyone else. 

Geordi wondered, then, if him requesting they all talk about this horridly shared mistake was expected, foreseen, or even alluded to ever since Beverly arrived to _Solstice_. 

_“From what I understand, and you’re able to disclose to us- it seems like work is progressing quite well,”_ Jean-luc commended, “ _and Hugh looks… remarkable, after all these years. But with all those former Borg, and you being inside a ship like that… do you feel_ safe _out there, Geordi?”_ Picard asked genuinely. 

“ _Yes,_ Jean-luc,” Geordi stressed with an eyeroll, adding in a mental _‘why wouldn’t I feel safe? Wanna explain that to me?’._ But considering Geordi himself had never been assimilated before, he felt he should at least give the old man a window into his acclimated comfort. “I do. The xB technicians are some of the best, most willing-to-learn people I’ve met since the _Enterprise-D._ I mean-- _general_ pre-Borg circumstance lends them to efficiency in the _first_ place, but besides that… I’m not even mentioning them on a personal basis- they’re…” Geordi clenched his fist, shaking his head and then running his fingers over his lips. “‘Extraordinary.’ What Hugh’s been doing since we left Ohniaka III is nothing short of incredible, much less at what all those Liberated Borg have been able to accomplish. ...Even _after_ we fried their first Command Juggernaut.”

“I have to confirm this,” Beverly crooned, turning her gaze from Geordi to the rest of the table. “We have so much to learn from them not only on a technological basis, but they’ve made their own… community, society, culture in such a short time! The Collective, it- broke so many of these people,” the Captain sighed, “so many worlds and so many civilizations. But the Liberated Borg, they’ve managed to… pick up the pieces, whatever they can find- and stitch not only _themselves,_ but others _like them_ back together again.” 

_“I’m sure as a Doctor, Beverly,”_ Troi hummed, _“that’s quite beautiful to see in real time.”_

Crusher scoffed with a wave of the hand. “After enduring Cardassian politicians for a year, seeing _any_ semblance of honest, communal care is beautiful. But yes, Deanna- you’re very right. There’s actually a Betazoid xB here who’s the Cooperation’s equivalent of a CMO, and she reminds me very much of you-”

_“A CMO?”_

“Kind of,” Geordi elaborated, “their ‘ranks’ are less that, and rather just indicate experience and how much responsibility they’re willing to take on. It goes ‘Relay,’ ‘Junction,’ ‘Director’- sometimes for more core personnel, they’ll have title suffixes like ‘Executive Junction, ‘Junction Second’- much like how Crosis is ‘Director Second’ under Hugh.”

 _“Crosis?”_ Will asked. " _That name sounds familiar.”_

“Might be since he tried to beat the shit out of us on the bridge and we threw him in the brig, that’s why,” Geordi pointed out, which got a chuckle out of Deanna, Jean-luc, and Beverly. “Still just as big as he was then, but much more strapping. Nowadays he also helps manage a wrestling club with some Klingon xBs.” 

Worf’s curiosity was immediately piqued, the Klingon’s hologram tilting his head some. _“That is_ not _an easily accomplished feat.”_

 _“Oh, who knows-”_ Riker quipped, _“maybe we ought to get our ships there a day early before the Gala, Worf- he could give us a fun little run for our money,_ and _we could settle a score.”_

Deanna pointed a finger with a smirk, _“I know_ I _would like to see that.”_

Geordi was too busy laughing as Beverly spoke. “He reminds me of one of your Dixon Hill characters, Jean-luc; he has a very ~old Hollywood~ look to him.”

_“I’ll have to update the program to include xBs then, I suppose.”_

“Not yet- I still need to take Hugh on one of my _own_ Holodeck programs before we go gallivanting around in human history.”

 _It’s not the San Francisco one, is it?”_

Geordi sighed, “Deanna come on, let me have this--” 

_“I said nothing in prevention, Geordi.”_

The Commander smiled again, nostalgia filling his eyes as he looked around the holograms and Beverly at his side. 

“So we’re all in agreement? You’re alright with me telling Hugh?”

“ _You never really needed permission from us or to tell us at all, Geordi,”_ Deanna assured, _“because we do not warrant the luxury of ‘opinion’ when we almost did what we did. If we had been confronted about this_ after _your confession, that’s our responsibility in the first place to acknowledge what we were complacent in. But I believe we can say ‘thank you’ for the honesty and willingness to include us in this,”_ Troi affirmed. _“And I know_ I _will appreciate seeing Hugh again, having full context.”_

“ _Indeed_ ,” Worf rumbled. _“It is far less honorable to hide wrongdoing for the sake of our own ‘comfort.’”_

“ _Fine by me, Geordi,_ ” Riker agreed. “ _Diplomacy’s a two-way street, after all._ ”

Jean-luc was the last to respond, his eyes heavy with a vast, melancholy emotion that Geordi, as someone not an xB nor former captain of the _Enterprise-D,_ could probably ever name.

 _“I do not know if I will ever see Hugh again,”_ Jean-luc started, _“since I cannot attend this Federation-Cooperation Gala. Henceforth, you have both my thanks and blessings. ...It is, admittedly, hard for me,_ ” Picard admitted, _“when I couldn’t even assure Hugh that he would not forget who he was before we returned him to the Collective.”_

Geordi quickly thought _‘I mean you_ could _see Hugh on Ohniaka III if you really wanted to,_ ’ but stifled it for the sake of understanding Picard’s context. The former Admiral had so much guilt and grief in _general_ to live and contend with; not only as Captain, as Admiral, but his own history as an xB, the Battle of Wolf 359- as much as he may never want to speak of those times again. Throughout Starfleet administration, Geordi had heard grumblings labeling Picard as “the Hermit of Starfleet;” while the namesake wasn’t wholly inaccurate, Geordi knew why. Maybe it was for the best that Jean-luc took a step back. 

The only thing Geordi worried about, however, was Jean-luc stepping so far back into that cloyster of perceived failure and guilt, that he may eventually forget what the world was like beyond his own privileged perspective.

“Alright, then,” Geordi sighed, “wish me luck, everyone. I… care a lot for the guy. What he is, and who he is, what he and the Project are doing here means so much, and… I just wanna be honest. I can’t take knowing what we almost did and keep on looking at him like I do.”

Troi’s eyes narrowed as Beverly rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Just ‘looking’, he says,” Crusher mused. 

Riker’s head leaned in. _“Come again?”_

“You’re not getting _anything_ out of me until the Gala,” Geordi humored them. “Classified station info and all.”

 _“I believe the very_ existence _of this call violates that postulation of policy, Commander,_ ” Picard reminded with a smirk.

 _“Oh come on, Jean-luc,”_ Riker offered, _“what’s a little phone call between some friends?”_

Worf sighed as he resettled in his seat. _"Your ‘bending’ of judging what is and isn’t ‘personal’ with regards to this discussion is both… ‘amusing,’ if not ‘consistent’ to our previous service together, Captain Riker.”_

 _“Mhm, fine Geordi- I won’t pry anything out of_ you, _at least,”_ Troi crooned, looking at Beverly with a glint in her eye.

Geordi caught Crusher winking at the Counselor.   
Geordi knew _exactly_ what that look meant, and a familiar dread laced with a friendly fondness filled the Commander’s gut. 

“Well,” Geordi sighed, “I’ll see most of you all in a month and a half?”

“ _Affirmative._ ”   
“ _Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  
_ _“We’ll see you soon, Geordi.”  
_ “ _Try not to have_ too _much fun without me~.”  
_ _“Oh, we’ll be sure to have a right ‘ball,’ Jean-luc.”_

Riker’s hologram looked around for but a second to see if anyone else “”got it.””

_“Because it’s… a… sphere, get it. And. We’re going to a gala party, and it’s a--”_

“Oh keep going Will, keep going!” Geordi encouraged as Beverly laughed, “I want to hear the rest of this!” 

_“That makes_ one _of us_ ,” Worf grumbled.

 _“None of you are any fun,”_ Will fake protested, to which Deanna’s hand waved right through his hard-light broadcast with an eyeroll.

“Say hi to Kestra for me, you two. Worf, I wish you and the _Enterprise-E_ safe travels; I’m excited to see the old girl when you and everyone’s crews dock here.”

 _“The Enterprise-E is hardly ‘old’ by Federation standards,”_ Worf told him, “ _but your… sentiments are noted, Commander. We will proceed in orderly exploration.”_

“Glad to hear it. And Jean-luc,” Geordi finally said, turning his eyes to the Admiral, “take care of yourself, alright?” 

“Save a bottle of this year’s harvest for us in a decade, Jean-luc,” Beverly said somewhat wistfully.

And Picard, in all his weighted gaze that his hologram could communicate, gave a melancholy smile to his old Chief Engineer and Medical Officer. 

_“I may or may not send you_ all _something special for the occasion through standard Federation mail_ , _”_ Picard offered. _“Considering the distance, it’ll probably take that long to even_ get _out there. ...But I will,”_ the Admiral relinquished, “ _and you all take care as well.”_

And the weight of shared history between the company hung just as heavy as the love, distance, and melancholy Jean-luc Picard hung on the group’s weary shoulders.

Riker gave the group a grin. _“So,”_ he started, _“who’s hanging up fir--”_

And Beverly, with a playful little smirk, told Geordi’s Ready Room broadcaster to “End Call,” Captain Crusher idling in place. 

“Just ‘looking at Hugh,’” Beverly crooned to no one in particular, “oh, Geordi- you’re funny-”

“Come onnn, Bev- I’m not gonna tell ‘em I have a crush on the guy without them _seeing_ him first!” he protested. “And besides, I… wanna make sure this goes over well. God knows I could be shooting myself in the foot with this and-- my own nerves about it aside, but--”

“You have to finish this operation regardless, Geordi,” Crusher reminded him. “But from what I’ve seen of Hugh these past few days, what I’ve seen of the xBs overall… something tells me you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself.” 

And Geordi sighed through his nose, nodding some as the Commander collected both his nerves and his resolve. 

“Easier said than done, Bev.”

* * *

**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

“But… ‘own stuff?’ ‘” Hugh mused. “What could he be alluding to? I mean I-- shouldn’t even be _mulling_ about like this in the _first_ place, true, but I can’t help but wonder--” 

“Hugh.”

“It could be anything! I mean-- you heard what Captain Crusher said to Queen 127, Geordi’s history with the Collective is _vast_ as it is _impressive!_ Maybe it’s--”

“Huuugh--”

“Is it something to do with me? Us? One, culture-wide, what is it? I’m stumped for this, mystified, I cannot...”

The Director stopped himself when he did not hear his Director Second interrupt again; instead, the rustling of their uniform’s fabric caught his ear, turning to see Crosis giving him a flat look as the xB had folded his arms over his chest and leaning against his desk. 

“Oh- _now_ you stop.” 

Hugh sighed. “I apologize.” 

“Accepted and taken. ...Do not make me regret telling you I spoke to the Commander.”  
Hugh offered him a bashful look. “You don’t already, do you?” 

Crosis bobbed his head as if to seem lost in thought… then gave up, relinquishing a smirk with a sigh out his mustachioed nose. 

“No. You’re too endearing when you’re lost in thought like that, my friend.”  
“Thank y--”  
“Your ‘crush’ simply makes itself known to me more and more each day.” 

Hugh stared beloved daggers at his large friend as Crosis smirked, his face growing redder by the second as the two Directors reviewed, exactly, _what_ Crosis had discussed with Geordi. Upon the revelation that apparently _the Commander_ had been thinking of personal issues since their encounter with Queen 127, Hugh was admittedly… ‘pondering,’ ‘ruminating,’ ‘wondering’ what on _Earth_ he could mean. Was it something about xBs in general? Something in how he felt towards _him,_ maybe? Was it, perhaps, time to come to terms with what he _himself_ had done, even if inadvertently to Geordi and the crew of the _Enterprise-D?_

It could all be so much.   
And thankfully, Crosis could be just as patient as he was strong. 

“I knew one day I would regret not seeing him again before they left. I suppose my suspicions were correct, even 23 years later.”

“You were not ready, Hugh,” Crosis reminded him, “and it was a difficult time. We were all reconciling with what we did. We know _you_ did not see Geordi again, but… I did. Others with me too, of course; Bosus, Torsus, Twelve- I roughhoused Worf, Data, Crusher, Picard… and Geordi _did_ endure severe cranial damage, mental trauma by my hands, why do you think--”

“I know,” Hugh stopped Crosis for their consciences' sake, “I know. ”

The Director Second’s lips thinned. “It wasn’t your fault. You did nothing directly to him, unlike me.”

“I still helped _enable_ it. I was complicit; I ran with the other Progenitors, we hid knowing and abiding what Lore was doing, and yet I had the gall to ask Riker and Worf how Geordi _was_ after they informed me he was probably suffering at the android’s hand _.”_

His friend was quiet.

“You told me you had sharp words with the then-Commanders,” Crosis finally said.

“I did.”

“Regarding?”

Hugh collected himself with a sharp breath in.

“I was angry,” the Director sighed. “Angry and frustrated at what Lore had done and what he had taken from us. That _we_ substituted our deceased Queen so quickly with another despot, that we were so…” Hugh waved his hand, “ _weak_ to return to some semblance of a hive. I wanted... whatever scraps of the community we were building, I wanted my friends back, I wanted _you_ back from Lore’s side,” he continued, “and I took that anger out on the wrong culprits. Riker, Worf, the Federation- were _easier_ because… they had given me something I didn’t fully comprehend at the time. Given _us_ something. It was something outside of ourselves to blame. And I just wanted things to go back to the way they were.”

“You didn’t know any better at the time,” Crosis remarked, the words sounding eerily familiar, “ _We_ didn’t know any better at the time.”

Hugh tightened his lips. “Ignorance… I loathe how much it applied to us, Crosis.” 

“We were new to the world. To clarity.”  
“But we were not new to suffering.”

Hugh shared a gaze with Crosis, weighted with all the pain and loss their initial months of sapiency brought. 

“It seems like... you’ve found unpackaged emotions from this reunion, Director,” Crosis offered him.   
“A plethora’s worth.”   
“Mm. And why do you feel it took Captain Crusher arriving to ‘stir up the dust,’ as I’ve learned the metaphor goes? Why not the last times you’ve seen Commander La Forge?”

Hugh actually had to think about that one.

And in the 109 microcalculations it took to get to that conclusion, his gaze devolved from that commonplace, piercing xB stare, into a floor-level, melancholy absence.

“I saw Geordi again when I had shucked the remnants of my old self off during Reconstitution. Captain Crusher, Beverly, I-- she is a reminder. A relic to me from that time. I hear _Beverly’s_ voice, and while I take comfort in her presence, I am reminded of what my voice sounded like before Troval ripped the speech augments from my throat,” Hugh admitted, which got a small little chuckle out of Crosis. “You heard the Captain yourself when she first arrived here, my friend. The last time Beverly saw me, I was giving Geordi my holographic imager.” 

Crosis quirked his brow at that insinuation. “Ohhh, moved quite fast, Director! I thought it’s in your desk?” 

Hugh's reddening face sputtered at the inadvertent implication, waving his hand at the large man as Crosis’ laugh grew louder, “No, no- nothing like that! They were doing tests, I had the social grace of a-- and I-- leave me alone, augh, you’re awful--!”

“Mhm, mhm- yes, sure Director; I see.” 

Hugh scoffed with an eye roll, shaking his head as their shared laughter died down and another pause hung between them.

“Do you feel it would help to start unpacking this if you spoke to Commander La Forge?” 

“I will,” Hugh assured him. “It will be difficult. But if _you_ could speak to Geordi in such a way, then _I_ certainly can, too.” 

“Your feelings for the Commander make it hard for you.”

Hugh bit his lip. 

“I want to name these feelings, Crosis. I want to tell _Geordi_ what I want to name them. And yet... I am terrified of those names’ implications.”

The desk creaked as Crosis stood up from leaning his weight against it, lumbering slowly towards where Hugh was standing and matching his thoughts and gaze to the dark, star-dotted vista of space. A hand rested on and traveled up Hugh’s arm, stopped on his shoulder- and before Hugh could return the gesture, Crosis kissed his friend on the forehead, that large hand now cusping the side of Hugh’s scarred cheek as the Director smirked cheekily at the tickle from his friend’s mustache. Even 23 years later, Hugh always marveled at and gave thanks for the gentleness in his cohort- a striking contrast to the bloodthirsty devil Lore so desperately tried to mold the gentle giant into. 

“Start as all xBs do, my friend,” Crosis spoke. 

And Hugh, grinning, once Crosis leaned down, returned the favor of the xB gesture, kissing his friend’s forehead.

“‘From our beginnings.’ Of course.” 

“I trust you to handle your own,” Crosis continued, “you’ve handled yourself _as_ yourself for 23 years, after all.” 

“And so have you, Crosis.”

Crosis wavered his large hand quickly side to side. “Give or take six months of that, considering the Soonien-influenced circumstances.” 

Hugh set his jaw with a pursed, playful smirk as he shook his head. “I only wish we could’ve disassembled Lore _ourselves_ before the _Enterprise-D_ carted him off.”

“I share your sentiments wholeheartedly.”   
“You would’ve thrown his head so far it’d put an off-planet _tractor beam_ to shame.”  
“Like _you_ wouldn’t have?”  
“No.”

Hugh’s head bounced back and forth some as his grin grew wider. 

“...I would’ve _kicked_ it.”

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_ **

To be perfectly honest with himself, Geordi had little memory of how he’d gotten to this point. All he’d remembered was that he’d pinged Hugh asking when he’d be free and done with the day cycle’s work for the evening, Geordi having roiled over and over what he was going to _say_ to the Director, how in the hell he was even going to _start_ a conversation like this! How do you tell a guy you haven’t cared about this much since your decade-departed partner “hey, sorry, I almost sent you back with a virus intended to kill you and the entire Borg Collective, are we still cool” and play it off like it was nothing? Starfleet admirals truly had to be made of some otherworldly material to be able to handle… truths? Confessions? No, no- it was ‘lying,’ might as well call it what it was- lying to keep a nice face to the public, and the Commander could only hope-- 

“Commander?”

Hugh’s voice brought him back down to earth. 

“Augh, I’m… sorry, I got caught up in my thoughts, this is…”

Hugh watched for him to continue. 

And Geordi remembered the last thing the Director had offered him: “I am always willing to listen to you.”

 _Both good_ and _bad answer, Director,_ Geordi thought; _because this is probably the last thing you’re gonna want to hear from me._

“I’m- really thankful for that, because I know how hard it must be for you all, and… admittedly, it got me thinking too. Or, rather, _encouraged_ me when I was feeling really torn up about it, so I wanna just… I dunno, gloat about him to you, I guess? As a friend? Before we get into what _I_ wanna own up to? Does that make sense?” 

“Yes, I- think so,” Hugh allowed him, pausing at Geordi’s last insinuation. “Of course; I’m _very_ thankful for the friend I have in Crosis, but… ‘your stuff?’” the Director caught, tilting his head some and pushing his brow downward.

Geordi swallowed, wrapping his lips in. 

“Hugh, I um…” 

“Geordi?” 

_Now or never, La Forge._

The Commander rolled his tongue against his cheek and quickly pulled up some data on the PADD he held, typing commands to the UI and flicked his hand to bring up a still image from a program model-long-since-deleted, dated from 2368 on the wall screen.

“What can you tell me about this image, Hugh?” Geordi asked, stuffing the device as he stood beside the xB. 

The Director was squinting some as his cybernetics-laced eyes tried to analyze it, his expression recalling the same face humans made when most try to decipher “impossible shapes.” It was a snapshot, thankfully, since Geordi had the original program and model deleted over two decades ago; henceforth, the xB was not spending any strenuous amount of mental effort trying to analyze its structure. Hugh’s brow did furrow some, however, at seeing the title of the project, frozen in screencap form as a testament and haunting spectre of the Commander’s past transgressions.

“It… looks to be a holographic shape,” Hugh began, “that cannot exist in physical space, in construct. It is a- still image, I can see, but the modeling and construction of its dimensions- if given enough hours through a processing modem unfamiliar with its inherent nature, it would corrupt any server’s processors in a matter of hours, if not shorter- depending on how many relays the computer was able to first filter through subroutines before it made its way to the mainframe...”

Hugh’s lips tightened. “Geordi what is this?” he asked quickly. 

The Commander sighed through his nose.

“This,” he began, “was something I was instructed to develop with Data at the command of then-Captain Picard, when you were aboard the _Enterprise-D._ Before you’d woken up, we’d… decided to use you as a way to smuggle a virus back into the Collective, effectively stemming from you to destroy the entire mainframe. It was this; a simple paradox that would’ve started installing itself endlessly onto your subroutines, until…”  
Geordi waved his hand. “I deleted it just as soon as it was finished. I couldn’t. Not until you started becoming yourself and we knew there was more to the Borg. Beverly didn’t wanna do it from the start; she just… wanted to bring you back to health. I was next, I talked to Guinan who convinced _Picard_ to meet with you, and… we all called it off. We realized we were wrong, what we’d done and the error in our thinking, and… Deleted it. But we still considered it and developed it in the first place, Hugh, and-”

“Then that’s what those tests were for.” 

Geordi swallowed again.

“Yes.”

The Commander, already, was a mixture of all surprised, uneasy, and slightly scared of just how quiet Hugh was, his hand tightly cupping his chin and his gaze fixed forward on the image. His leg was beginning to jitter until his augmented hand began to rub and mush his lips, taking in a sharp sigh as his eyes fluttered shut. For all the cybernetic neurons his brain was probably firing at the moment, a foreign definition of “positronic” knitted with a host of others’ technologies woven throughout his skull… Hugh was at a loss for words. 

And for a man who so often took joy in finding different words by which to describe the word around him, Geordi could only wonder what kind of words Hugh was associating him with now.

“When I,” Hugh finally said, “first _saw_ Riker and Worf, actually- when some of the Progenitors were hiding with me away from Lore’s headquarters, we… spoke. About a similar conversation to this, but- I suppose I fully understand the context of his words now. Then-Commander Riker told me they’d ‘considered’ the effects my newly-gained individuality would have on my fellow drones, the Collective in general; I’m… sure to people _unfamiliar_ and _unsteeped_ in its harsh realities imagined that spark to be quite poetic, but…” 

Another silence hung, Hugh seemingly on the edge of words he desperately wanted to confess himself.

“My cranial implants, then?”

“Made those myself before the plan was even made. Those, at least,” Geordi told him in a weak voice, “those were meant to save your life. Not-- ruin you, _or_ the Collective.”

Hugh’s tongue rolled against his cheek.

“I still have them, you know.” 

Geordi tried to grin. “I'm glad they’ve lasted.”

The Director sequestered himself in thought again.

“And here to think,” Hugh shook his head with vacant, despondent-looking eyes, “I was… I’d actually been pondering apologizing to _you,_ Geordi. Apologize for the-- inadvertent role _I_ had in nearly condemning you to death inside Lore’s butchery, after Crosis told me what he said to you. I… still _want_ to apologize- one individual’s wrongdoing to another does not absolve us of our original crimes, of course, but--” 

Hugh’s tight jaw and sealed lips began to shudder.

“None of us are clean, is what’s to be deduced.”

“No,” Geordi managed, shutting his eyes and looking down. “No, not at all. ”

The shores of this uneasy silence were quickly filling with the tides of implication at the Commander’s confession.

“You looked me in the _eyes_ ,” Hugh started, the xB unwilling (or unable) to meet Geordi’s gaze, “when I was… confused, had given me my _name,”_ he cracked, _“_ told me you were ‘sending me home’... and you were concocting _this_ ? Is that what _Picard’s_ ‘test’ was for, then?” Hugh’s voice pleaded, his voice peppered with anger and eyes pleading for confirmation. “To test my merit, see if I was... capable of standing my ground? His-- charade bearing the weight of Locutus’ name, a name that _haunts_ me to this day-- telling me the Collective would _kill you_ if you were not assimilated?! And I was _alone_ there, for the first time in my life- defying what I thought to be the _weight of the entire Borg Hivemind?!_ ” 

“Hugh--” 

And the man, the Director, the xB, the _Hugh_ that Geordi La Forge was growing more infatuated with day by day- seemed to fade away in a dissonant, haunted stare, reaching back 23 years into a pit of memories that Geordi would never be able to describe.

“It... didn’t happen all at once, you know--” Hugh’s voice finally ecked out, the Director’s calm demeanor breaking and cracking just as much as Geordi’s heart was. “Cube 5219’s corruption. I... knew you, I _saw_ you before I was taken back, but I couldn’t even remember your name until well 23 hours onboard Cube 5219. I was numb. I forgot I had something taken from me in the first place. Thrown back against the recesses of my own cognition to that infinite vastness of a Hivemind. And that Geordi, _that_ ... that’s when the cracks started to form. I’d have… flashes, maddening instances of color, intent, words, the knowledge that this was not _all that there was_ and that there was _more,_ and I… wanted that again, I for some reason _chased_ it! I was ignorant yet I wanted to know _more;_ more of what there could _be_ ! My transport tertiary-- one, two, fourth, five of five-- I knew they were all dead, so why was _I_ alive?! And that questioning, that _realization_ that _I_ was somehow _also_ not dead, the _singularity_ of _me!_ \-- that’s what started my inquiry. I was a-- ‘Third of Five’ without a ‘Five,’” Hugh spat, tapping his temple rapidly, “ _I_ had to dig through _billions_ of voices for the information relays _I_ sought-- not _we, I, I_ dug for it _; do you understand?!_ And I found it. I found the spark of my own memory-- being under Beverly’s care, in the brig of the _Enterprise,_ I found the name,” he choked before speaking again, “y-you _helped give_ me, Geordi, and that’s… that’s when it all began to fall apart. I remember,” he sniffed, “staring at Crosis, reaching for his hand because of the mere fact _I_ could, and he--”

As Hugh’s hands gripped at his hair while looking for words, the fear that Geordi had inadvertently caused some sort of nervous breakdown in the Director made the Commander’s eyes begin to sting and the lump in his throat well larger by the second.

Shame burned at Geordi’s eyes and a painful guilt fueled the searing pain in his chest, “Hugh please, I--” 

“ _You were outside of me!”_ Hugh pleaded with him, _“You_ were the outside reference I had! You and Beverly were my teachers, my enlighteners, my _friends_ , and-- I couldn’t fill that gap for those drones, do you understand?! I was a _child_ trying to teach _infants_ , and I wanted you back to teach me more-- to _show them_ what you’d shown _me_ because _I_ didn’t have the answers quite right yet! I drove my Queen _to madness_ and she _killed herself_ because of what I introduced; drones shut themselves down, some threw themselves from catwalks- our nurseries deactivated and we crashed on a planet- a planet where researchers with the same uniform I saw _you_ dressed in drew _phasers_ on us before we killed them in cold blood! And I was angry! I didn’t want to _accept_ this new life! To think that my very existence _incited_ trauma and a fight for my own identity! I hurt from the loss of comfort the Hivemind brought- that safety, that _grand lie_ of safety in erasure and oppression, and we…”

What could he even say, the Commander thought bitterly.

“ _Every day_ I live with the weight that _I!,”_ Hugh hollered, _“I, for SOME DAMNED REASON, LIVED,_ was able to wake _up_ from the reality of Species 125’s manipulative oppression _, and I have to KNOW_ for the rest of my life that _I changed the Collective forever!_ The _Enterprise_ may not have sent me back with a virus in _programming_ , but it did in the form of a _name-_ a name _you gave me,”_ Hugh’s voice broke, _“of a life beyond what I was living- that I knew that there could be MORE, and we had to SUFFER to live as we do now!”_

The Executive Director only stopped to sob and gain his breath.

“ _SO IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE I SHOULD KNOW ABOUT, COMMANDER LA FORGE?!”_

And for all of Geordi’s shock at hearing Hugh’s genesis- for all the burning that shrouded his eyes and the escalating sting tears brought, the Commander could only think of one way he wanted to respond to this question. 

_Yes, Director_ , he wanted to say- _there_ is _something you should know_ .  
 _I think I’m in love with you.  
_ _But that definitely can’t be “anything else,” anymore._

* * *

> _[Come back]  
> _ _[ 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5]  
> _ _[Come back]  
> _ _[Breathe]  
> _ _[My name is Hugh]_

Hugh pulled back the leash that barely tethered his rage- his memories, the fleeting faces, and voices and screams from two decades long since gone- feeling his brow crease upwards at Geordi’s reaction as the Director came back more into his own awareness. There was no defending the Federation in his eyes, Hugh saw- no defending his former Captain; the Director found no defiance or justification in Geordi’s crumpled, hand-covered expression. And as Hugh’s trembling hands opened and closed, his eyes pull open and wrench back shut, Hugh brought himself back to the Command Juggernaut, in the year 2391, far far away from where he and the Progenitors once were, and back to the awareness of Geordi’s own emotional state as it began to dawn on the Director.

Geordi was crying, Hugh realized.   
So was he.  
And the anger on his leash began to loosen and retreat deep, deep, deep into regret that Hugh had slipped back into such a frightening place.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Hugh finally found the air to say. “I apologize, I- shouldn’t have raised my voice like that towards y--”

“No,” Geordi shook his head, giving a snotty sniff as he smushed the bottom of his palm against his tear-streaked cheek. “No. Don’t, you had-- you have _every_ right to get angry. For what I nearly had a hand in doing and what you went through. I-I’m not gonna sit here, and- devalue your _very_ justified anger, Hugh- just because I-- got a little weepy, I’m just-- are you okay? Are you alright, I-- You went somewhere Hugh-,” Geordi choked, “I pushed you there by accident a-and I didn’t mean to, and--” 

Hugh allowed a pause to hang as he watched Geordi collect himself. 

“After… after we dropped you off, when Picard told me you’d begged him to not assimilate me, I couldn’t sleep for a week. Because here I was, not… _days_ ago developing a program that’d destroy you. Kill _you_ and the _entire_ Collective. That’s… I hate that, Hugh!” he exclaimed, “I hate that I didn’t look at Picard and tell him no, _right_ from the get-go like Beverly did! And apparently I hated it so much, I just-- stuffed it… so far down, I’d never have to look at it again. S-so I could just go on pretending like I could have some sorta guilt-free, perfect Starfleet conscience, and--” 

“Geordi, I--”

Hugh was trying to paw for one of Geordi’s hands, but they were both occupied with one over rubbing at his eyes and the other wound tightly around his chest but no, no- the Director needed something and he needed it now before-

“P-please, may I,” Hugh pleaded, “your hand. M-my mind, it needs a-- I require physical tether, presently, I’m not going to--”

Geordi, without another moment wasted, unhooked his hand from around his waist; and Hugh took it- holding on for the dear, precious life he had now. 

Hugh sniffed as he did one more breathing regiment before speaking.

“I have a confession I must make.”  
Geordi swallowed after a sniff. “Yeah?” 

“I may be... _justified_ in my anger towards this past transgression. And it may feel _good,_ but--” 

Hugh bit his lip as he felt his mind desperately try to find words by which to describe his clarity.

“I am finding that the _satisfaction_ of that short-term anger,” Hugh concluded, “pales in comparison... to how much I loathe seeing you like this. Seeing you in- ‘mourning,’ for something you almost did, had a hand in _concocting_ is… angering, yes, but _\--_ Geordi, I-- for everything you’ve done for me despite it and since then? For what you've done here, for the Cooperation? For me? Now, if- you and the Federation would’ve discounted my personhood _further_ and abused me, mistreated my sapience, or at _any time_ made me feel uncomfortable aboard the _Enterprise,_ I’d have different feelings than I do currently, but-- as I said a couple weeks ago, Geordi.”

> _“It’s… the sentiment is appreciated, Geordi. But the memories I have from my experience there remain among some of my favorites, despite the conflicted nature I have about my at-time conduct.”_   
>  _“What a coincidence. Mine too.”_   
>  _“But I was only there for a few days-”_

“The past… that time of my life will-- always be traumatic to me. Nothing will ever change that, unfortunately,” Hugh admitted with a weak laugh as he felt another tear streak leave its mark. “There are admittedly times where I… wondered life would’ve been like, if I had chosen sanctuary with the _Enterprise._...With you.”

“Aw,” Geordi sniffed, unearthing a grin, “that makes two of us, then-”

Hugh’s grin grew despite the stains of wistfulness in his gaze.

An xB residing on the _Enterprise-D?_ Possibly even _serving?  
_ Hugh spared a moment of thought and wonder for how his kin who'd decided to leave for Starfleet Academy were currently doing.

“And Commander… I must come to terms with the fact I almost allowed you to die at Lore’s hands. Crusher’s presence and Crosis’ mindfulness in contrast to my errors have only made me feel… ‘reminded?’ ‘Exacerbated?’ Actually no, I’ll recall something I heard you say recently,” Hugh allowed through his own wavering voice. “‘...feel shitty.’”

A spark of relief surged in the xB has he heard Geordi finally manage a messy breath of a laugh.

“I still helped make that virus,” Geordi managed, running his hand down his face again. “I don’t deserve forgiveness for what I did, Hugh, I can’t; how can I?” 

The Director pondered this, still gripping Geordi’s hand tightly as he considered his next words.

“Perhaps,” Hugh offered, “not forgiveness, if you refuse to take it; but rather... acceptance? Acceptance of who we _both_ were, what we were _both_ complicit in, once,” the Director formulated, “and from there we may take a greater… ‘pride,’ ‘comfort, ‘ _peace_ ’, even- in who we are today. ...Would you do that for me?” Hugh asked a suddenly shaky voice, “at least take that? Reflect on that? And in turn, you may-- allow me a chance to come to terms with the lives _I’ve_ taken? And once almost took?” 

Hugh paused. 

“And who knows. You may yet, one day... allow me to forgive your conscience.”

At this, Geordi sniffed again in harder and tugged the xB’s hand into a deep, warm hug. He felt Geordi’s fingers root themselves deep in his hair as his other hand gripped Hugh’s uniform vest, both surprised by the Commander’s strength and shattered by the thudding heart he felt rattling in Geordi’s. 

“You’re a miracle, you know that,” Geordi told him, Hugh unable to do anything but melt into the man’s embrace. “You’re a beautiful little miracle that we had the blessing of picking up, dusting off- and we were almost enough of idiots to snuff you out before you got as bright as you did. And I am so, so sorry what you went through.”

Beautiful.   
Hugh quite liked that word.  
And he was even more stricken by how sweet it sounded and how much more he liked the descriptor when Geordi said it. 

Because if Geordi La Forge could still adore an android who almost killed him from his brother’s manipulative will, then maybe there could be room in there for Hugh as well. 

“It’s not that I didn’t trust your ability to know, Hugh, I just… had stuffed it so far down into myself because I couldn’t _face_ it. And to think that I thought such terrible, dehumanizing things about you initially and how I feel now, that’s…” 

_Tell me_ , Hugh’s gut begged, _please, Geordi; tell me, how do you feel-_

> _[Not now]  
> _ _[Least of all, now]_

“Let us _both_ agree, then,” Hugh offered as he pulled back from the hug (but immediately took Geordi’s hand again), “that in all our imperfection… we are still striving towards whatever ‘perfection’ we can gain. Trying to improve, right? In our own ways?”

“Yeah. Every day, Hugh.” 

The silence Hugh and Geordi let hang was both a comfort and much needed balm to their rapidly-buzzing, but finally quieting minds.

“Your former shipmates, former Captain,” Hugh asked quietly, “do they know you’re telling me this?”   
“I was gonna do it with or _without_ their permission, honestly, but… yeah,” Geordi told him, “I called them and talked it out.”  
“I admire your extension of courtesy.”   
“Less of ‘courtesy’ and more like ‘this was a really shitty thing we almost did and we have to come clean about it whether you like it or not.’”

It got a reserved, but amused smirk out of Hugh. “And Starfleet itself?” 

Hugh felt his smirk expand to a little chuckle as Geordi rolled his eyes and shook his head with a dismissive wave of an unheld hand. “If they somehow find out, they can deal with a little ‘dusting behind the mask’ sometimes. And if they got any problems with that, they’re more than welcome to talk to the guy who actually _made_ that shitty virus in the first place.”

Geordi paused before striking up his own query. “You, though-” he asked, placing his other hand over Hugh’s, “you’re okay for now? Really? You had me a little worried there, I--” 

“I am not a stranger to manifestations of PTSD the longer I dwell on those memories,” Hugh admitted, “but I’ll be alright, if I just… ‘take it easy,’ I suppose is the best way to put it. Thank you for checking, however.” 

“Least I could do.” 

For someone who so often looked for words, Hugh suddenly felt hundreds of them barely restrained by his tongue.

“Would you--” Hugh spoke suddenly, bringing Geordi’s gaze back up from the ground, “I, ah… I could use a distraction. From silence, at least- I do best grounding myself from these episodes in limited company. And as much as I love and adore my fellow Reclamation Project personnel and friends, considering the circumstances I would find the company of someone… _removed,_ ” he said, “from my past trauma, very comforting right now.”

“Of course- I’m not doing anything else for the evening, I got my work done early,” Geordi said to Hugh’s great relief. “What do you do to help yourself relax?”

“You’re going to mock me when I tell you.”  
“No I won’t- now tell me~.” 

Hugh steeled sudden nerves with his own eyeroll and a sigh. “A couple of various hobbies, but… cooking,” he admitted, “is one I find specifically methodical. Why do you think I made all that food the afternoon before Beverly arrived? Whatever I don’t or _can’t_ eat, I usually send to the common area for xBs for samplings.” 

“I mean dinner the night she came in was _delicious,_ so you certainly made something good out of it,” Geordi agreed. “And hey, tell you what. Need some help doing prep for whatever it is you’re thinking of making?” 

“If you do prep while I tend to the proteins for a curry recipe I’m thinking of, I would be very thankful.” 

And despite everything- despite the weight, the nervousness, the anguish of the unchangeable past and the burden of existence today, tomorrow, and forever, Executive Director Hugh smiled a hopeful grin as Geordi squeezed his hand in confirmation.

“Deal.”

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 7, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_ **

> _He rises with the sun; the beautiful, heat-giving spectacle of space that lit the moon’s horizon like fire, the glint of the windows too sublime-  
> _ _He stands from his blankets, led by a peace and stillness despite his fluttering heart around an eternally rounding corner of a bed.  
> _ _He stands before the other, he stops before the alcove- beside the bed, it stands there with a man inside-_
> 
> _It is harsh, dark, speaks with the envious nature of emeralds and flashes of white, rebellious lightning. Inside, there is a man: a man soft and yet like metal to the touch, hair as fine as ghostly wisps as it tumbles through his fingers, his feet caught halfway on a raised metal platform and a uniform tossed aside hours ago in hunger, in desperation, in laughter-_
> 
> _His thumb now holds a chin between it and the heart he has made with his finger, and his lips meet the man’s as the sun shines golden rays over his scars, augments, the man’s beautiful face and wizened lines from age’s eventual wear--_
> 
> _And he wishes this kiss could last forever._
> 
> _The smile from the man that paints itself against his lips is infectious, intoxicating, he wants more of it as the man’s voice tumbles out his throat like silk._
> 
> _“Good morning-” the man says, and he knows this voice, knows this face--_
> 
> _But he smiles back, feeling his thumb echo in wisps of gentle strokes to the other man’s chin._
> 
> _“Good morning to you, too.”_

Commander Geordi La Forge awoke to his chest drawing a sharp breath in and his eyes pulling themselves open from a deep, deep sleep. 

For a moment, the lapse of dreamspace and his waking perception snapped at each conflicting mental wave, Geordi having to sit up some and rub his own face to sort his thoughts. Where was it, where was the man? ‘What,’ Geordi wondered- had that all happened? He was trying to remember how it ended, _if_ it ended, where was Hugh, and-- 

It was Hugh.  
Hugh was the man; the man in his dream.   
It hadn’t happened. 

And in Geordi’s sudden, heavy, sleep-encrusted revelation, he dearly wished it could’ve been real, that he was there in that dream _now_ , waking a princely Hugh with a good morning kiss as he stood like a sentinel inside his alcove.

The Commander sighed.

The weight of the vision pressed against him as much as Geordi rested his head in his hands, sighing at the burden that had added itself into his heart. Half asleep, it all felt so distant and yet so real, the implications frustratingly out of reach for a man that just last night he’d confessed to nearly murdering, and then helped de-escalate a horrid anxiety attack from his own inadvertent causation. Thankfully, the curry they had made last night was delicious and took well two hours to make, Geordi sent home with a quarter of the concoction (and the other quarter given to Beverly, the Captain happy to have a freshly cooked meal after a long shift and recounting of the night’s events from Geordi himself).

But the engineer, through the currents of self-doubt into the facts and affirmations, knew he’d hit two conclusions.

The first? Geordi wished this dream had happened. 

The second? That he wanted to _make_ this dream happen.

And a third conclusion, all at once, hit Geordi in his post-dream fog: that he could imagine many, many more scenes like the one from his dream. 

He wondered if Hugh would be the type to wait till he falls asleep to return to his alcove, then wake up just to be there to greet the new day at Geordi’s side in a bed. What did he even _look_ like sleeping? Could he _actually_ “nod off” in any capacity, or was it all just closing his eyes and meditating in the fugue state of Regeneration? Maybe one morning they could get too frisky, initiating that kiss and pushing it further and further until they tumbled back onto Geordi’s bed or continued their fun in a sonic shower, Hugh reading a daily itinerary over a mug of warm tea as Geordi satisfied his breakfast cravings with a...

_Fuck, he had it bad._

Maybe, with this weighted guilt somewhat free from his heart, Geordi could cut the pretense already and make their lives that much more enjoyable for the duration of this project.

It _did_ mean he had to get out of bed quicker, though, to make a replicator pattern for a receptacle that his VISOR could fit in.

So, after along day of reviewing the new research thesis hypotheses submitted by the Starfleet staff, checking in with Beverly and _Pasteur_ staff to ensure that resupply integration was wrapping up smoothly, and spending the better part of an afternoon cramped in the Borg equivalent of a Jefferies Tube, Geordi made sure with an equally-busy Director Hugh when his daily duties were complete, and could meet the xB in his _Solstice-_ provided quarters. He was thankful to hear from a text message side of things that apparently Hugh had an alright, low-key day, and a passing from Crosis confirmed this, as he’d apparently seen the Director earlier in his shift. Geordi managed to squeeze in some personal time with Captain Crusher, too, and tell her how it “went down,” the woman pleased and happy for her friend despite the melancholy Geordi caught in her eyes.

> _“You’re very lucky he has a naturally gentle heart, Geordi,”_ she told him in a cautious, loving voice. _“Be sure not to waste that personal forgiveness.”_
> 
> _“Don’t worry, Bev,”_ he’d assured her in turn. _“Think it gave me just the right idea of how to go forward.”_
> 
> _“Whatever happens, you better not keep me out of the loop like you are the others.”  
> _ _"Only if you don’t tell Deanna on me.”_ _  
> __“No promises, dear.”_

At their agreed-upon 2000 hours, Geordi strolled through the xB wing of _Solstice_ and arrived at the door to the Director’s quarters, his Command uniform undone as a jacket and a box tucked within the internal zipper pocket for discreteness’ sake. When the door slid open and Geordi rounded inside, it was with some shock he walked in on Hugh doing… something? To his neck? A cable around 5 centimeters thick was plugged into the top of where Hugh’s spine augments started in the middle of his neck, the Director holding a connected PADD with one hand and waving with his free hand. 

“Good evening, Geordi,” Hugh called pleasantly, though his expression shifted somewhat at noticing what was probably the Commander’s surprise. “I apologize; this subroutine is running a _smidge_ longer than I expected it to.”  
“No, that’s… fine,” Geordi assured, experiencing the weirdest sense of deja vu from where he stood. “Everything alright, or-?”

“Yes, thankfully,” Hugh assured him, “it is a weekly diagnostic I must perform for some of my internal implants to ensure their physical states are as desired. It caught my cortical node having experienced some extra stress, so it is ensuring my nanoprobes are attending to its restoration, aside from what regeneration also offers.” 

Guilt tried to nip at Geordi’s heels, silent thoughts insinuating that he definitely had _some_ sort of idea of what that “extra stress” may have been from.

“Ahhh, alright- sorry if I looked a little surprised there, I just-- gotta admit,” Geordi breathed with a hand on his heart, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen someone hooked up to diagnostic machinery like that. I know I’ve-- seen some post-Reclamation Procedure xBs with it in, I just didn’t know you did it, too. Still.”

“Ah, really? I apologize if I’ve unsettled you in any way, my subroutine is 96% complete--” Hugh noted, wiggling and showing off the PADD.

“Hardly!” the Commander proclaimed, “no, if anything it’s… nice to see. I’m an engineer- up close and personal work like that was always my bread and butter, so it--”

Hugh squinted as Geordi approached, “Your _what_ now?”

“‘Bread and butter,’ it’s-- historical basics, for humans, so therefore basics for what certain _people_ like doing and- yeah, you get it,” the Commander told him as he approached, Hugh nodding along an “ohhh” at Geordi’s explanation. “But yes, it-- I used to do all sorts of diagnostic work like this on--” _Data “--_ the _Enterprise_ back in the day _._ It’s nice to see, if anything. Makes me a little nostalgic. _”_

“I would have thought you’d been more _hesitant_ at the sight considering my encounter with Atlas.” 

“I would be _more_ concerned if I saw you as ah... ‘distressed’ as you were then,” he allotted, “But no, Director- you seem relaxed,” Geordi settled on, grinning as he got closer to his desk. “Very in your element. I hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Not at all,” Hugh assured him. “In fact-” 

With a few pleasant trills that eventually sped up quicker into a solid, single beep, the cable’s end base turned green, the Director’s hand sneaking up to reach for the back of his neck. A quiet hiss and decoupling later, he plucked the cable out of the port with his thumb and pointer, Hugh holding the jack up for Geordi to see as his free hand rubbed circles where metal met flesh, and faint hints of a smile hid behind the Director’s mismatched eyes. 

“All done.”

Just like how he and Data used to.

_Good Lord Geordi, focus-_

“Do you… um- ever need- help with that?”

_Smooth._

Hugh simply smirked, setting the PADD down on the desk and rising as he spoke: “Occasionally,” he remarked, “if there are ports I cannot access by my own reach or need assistance in, I either conscript Crosis, Troval, or back on Ohniaka III whatever medical facility is closest by. ...But if you’re willing to learn its trade,” he alluded with a grin as he rounded his desk to join Geordi, “I wouldn’t exactly deny your offerings.” 

Hugh _had_ to know what he was doing, no way was he getting by with that cat-like smirk for his own ignorance--

“And _I_ wouldn’t exactly mind your tutelage,” Geordi tucked and rolled into, “though working with Atlas has proven its own boons for becoming more familiar with xB diagnostic tech.” 

“As to be expected; you _are_ one of Starfleet’s best, after all.”

“Ooo- that’s flattery I’ll _take_ because you’re _very_ right,” Geordi gloated (and got a chuckle out of Hugh). “But hey, ah… thank you for letting me come over again. Considering everything yesterday. You’re… doing alright, by the way? I know when I left you seemed like you were in an okay mood, but I wanna make sure--” 

“Better, thank you for asking,” Hugh confirmed. “Most of my work today was mundane busywork, allowing me a chance to refocus and relax. But yes, I’m… doing well, I’d like to think. I appreciate it.”  
“Least I could do is check. Especially before, well...”

Hugh raised an eyebrow. “As long as it’s not another deep-seeded Starfleet confession in a row, I think I can handle just about anything.” 

“Noooononononono, nope- I am _very_ much out of those thankfully,” Geordi immediately quipped.

And reaching inside his jacket, he began to undo the zipper that held his VISOR. “I think you’ll like this a lot more, honestly.” 

Pulling the box out, he handed it to Hugh, who looked at it with curiosity as he tested its weight. “Can I open it with you here?”

“By all means; I’m excited to watch you do that, actually.” 

And watching the sight of Hugh’s eyes go from absently curious, to wide, disbelieving, and darting back and forth between Geordi La Forge’s old VISOR and the man himself, was a beautiful sight the Commander wouldn’t, _couldn’t,_ ever forget.

“It’s- not the real thing,” Geordi admitted, Hugh’s eyes still glued to the piece as he set the box pieces on his desk, “that’s still back on Earth in my Starfleet storage; I can’t exactly go and get it or take out the eyes I’ve _got_ in me right now, but… but it _is_ the replica I keep with me. A little keepsake of lots of things- my Mom, Dad, all the years I spent wearing it. ...I’d like you to hold onto this for me, Hugh,” the Commander told him. “For as long as you want. If you’re willing.” 

Hugh could only swallow and firm his lips in bewilderment, Geordi mentally adding another point onto the “how many times has Geordi La Forge left Hugh at a loss for words” scoreboard.

“I thought about waiting a bit longer after what happened yesterday, but I uh… inspiration struck, let’s say. And suddenly I-- didn’t wanna wait anymore.”

“Last night’s admission brought its own revelations, I take,” Hugh finished for him.

“Right, right,” Geordi chuckled quietly, an extra whiff of flush skirting across his cheeks. “You get it.”

Hugh allowed a silence to hang as he carefully took the VISOR, his brown and blue eyes examining the little device as the xB turned it every which way in his cracked, gentle hands.

“Don’t put it on, please.”   
Hugh grinned. “I’ll be sure to restrain myself.” 

The Director paused again, and Geordi said a silent prayer of thanks that this conversation did not bear the same weight that yesterday’s did. 

“I... _continue_ to be impressed with how thorough your readings are on us, Commander,” Hugh admitted in a sweet, strained voice. “More than impressed, actually; that’s quite a pale word in comparison to what I am experiencing.”

“Tell me, then,” Geordi replied with. “I find that I rather _enjoy_ listening to you find words to describe things with, Director.” 

Hugh rolled his tongue against his cheek, Geordi watching him swallow as he considered the VISOR again in his hands. 

“...’humbled.’ ‘Awestruck?’ ‘Blessed.’ ‘Overwhelmed.’ ‘Grateful.’”

Hugh paused, then, looking down and wrapping his lips in with a rapidly bouncing leg, as Geordi watched him possibly consider something else.

“Quite... 'loved,’” he said, looking back up with a quickly-spreading smile, “amazingly enough.”

Loved.  
Geordi very much liked how that sounded coming from Hugh.

“I think that’s my favorite… and most accurate phrase you’ve said yet, Director.”

Hugh sniffled, looking back down with a barely-restrained smile at the VISOR. 

“I work for the Reclamation Project near constantly.”  
“We can figure something out. We’ve got four months here and I’m neck-deep in Starfleet, too; we’ll work the rest out later.”   
“I’ve only dated one other man before--”  
“If you’re gonna tell me it was Crosis, I am _not_ at all surprised or jealous.”  
“I have... augments that require physical servicing-”   
“Been there, done that;” Geordi said with a tap to his temples, “and I’ve spent the last month and a half picking up Borg tech, haven’t I?”  
“I am an _xB_ , will Starfleet--”   
“My last partner was an android we had a _Starfleet doctor_ try to come and repossess like property. ...And hey,” Geordi offered, “you act like I’m not _alright_ with that last one. And if Starfleet has a problem with that, they're gonna have a problem with _me_ and _everything else_ they claim to stand for.”

Hugh finally got the guts to meet Geordi’s gaze again, and the Commander was very, very thankful it was his beautiful, admiring, poignant stare not littered by the weight of sins from the past.

Because oh, how contagious was the immeasurable ecstasy of that stare in this moment for Geordi.

Hugh, nibbling his lip, held up a finger, carefully setting Geordi’s VISOR on top of the box he brought it in before rounding his own desk.

“I... know I told Beverly I’ve become a ‘much better gift-giver’ over the years,” Hugh alluded to Geordi as he scanned a handprint to open a drawer, “but I feel as if current circumstances warrant something like this, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Depends on what it is, I suppose, but--” a sharp wind filled his chest with sudden anticipation, wondering if it was going to be--

And sure enough, Hugh took something out of the drawer, pushed it shut, and Geordi was shocked to see it was the actual holographic imager that once sat on the Director’s face.

Geordi expected an augment, sure, but-- it’d survived? All these 23 years!? 

Hugh grinned again, extending the eyepiece to Geordi.

“Here.” 

And Geordi took it- gingerly, carefully, amused at the memories from his younger self finding it all gross, weird, and strange, the Commander now happily exploring the more “captivating” side of that emotional gambit. It had some definite wear and tear, that was certain- small knicks and scratches littered the “glass” on the iridescent window, a bronze-colored port point was chipped away or lost to the elements… but it was here, in all its alien wonder and glory, Geordi’s hands of an engineer holding it as gently as if it were a fresh-cut blossom.

He thought of a million things he could possibly say in this moment to make it even more poignant, but Geordi recalled the one simple word that would close the 23-year gap for both of them.

“Thanks.” 

By Hugh’s reaction, it looked as if the xB caught the Commander’s reference. 

“I just can’t believe you kept it this _intact_ over the years,” Geordi admitted, “is this the _actual_ piece?”

“Normally I leave it on Ohniaka III,” Hugh admitted, “and I have replicated… replicas of it before, but considering the significance of this operation, I felt compelled to bring it with me, for some reason. I am pleased that my intuition proved very ‘favorable,’ all things considering.”

“All we need is Bev here to _really_ recreate a scene.”

“How fortuitous for us that can actually be _arranged_ in our circumstances. But something tells me, Commander,” Hugh continued, “and by my _own_ noticings of your increased temperature, perspiration, and spiking adrenaline levels coupled with the fact you have just freshly showered _and_ shaved… you may not exactly _want_ other company with us tonight.” 

What xBs may have lacked in subtlety, they certainly made up for it in creative bluntness.

So Geordi retorted with his own noticings. 

“You can chalk _some_ of that up to nerves, admittedly,” Geordi relinquished, “and the shower was _originally_ me not wanting to stink this up after being crammed in Borg's type of Jefferies Tube all afternoon. But it doesn’t help when a _very_ handsome,” the Commander alluded, “very suave, kind, and _lovely_ xB Director accepts something very very _important_ to me, and gives _me_ something very very important to _him_ in return.”

Hugh’s smirk was already turning playful, Geordi noticed- the Director’s brown-and-blue eyes darting every which way over the Commander.

Geordi decided to get a little suave. 

His hand bringing the augment up to Geordi’s face level, he turned the region where the holographic “glass” met the metal rim of Hugh’s former augment and kissed it, his eyes still locked with Hugh’s as he eventually set the eyepiece on top of where Hugh laid Geordi’s VISOR.

The Director simply smirked.

“Charming.” 

“Thanks, I thought so too.”  
“Don’t actually kiss my eyeball though, please.”  
“I can think of plenty of other _pleasing_ places to kiss, Director,” Geordi humored, “especially when that line of thinking involves my new xB boyfriend.” 

Hugh’s eyes widened and his face instantly flared pink, resting his elbow in one hand and his mouth in the other.

“Oh that’s-- such a silly, but… charming word, ‘boyfriend,’” Hugh admitted, “if you call me that in public I _will_ get quite… ‘embarrassed,’ but in a good wa-- ‘flustered,’ yes, that’s the word I was looking for,”

“It’s a little childish, sure,” Geordi admitted with a laugh, “but we all gotta have our fun where we can, right?”

While Geordi chuckled, he heard Hugh requested his own quarters’ “enhanced privacy mode” be engaged, and suddenly the Commander felt familiar hands that bore aged skin, smooth scarring, and warm metal of augments cusp his cheeks as his lips met his for a deeply wonderful kiss.

“We certainly must.”

And maybe, just maybe, the Commander wondered- he might be able to make good on that dream from last night he already held so close to his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn we really went from anxiety attacks thanks to learning about attempted war crimes to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjXBwfF0kGE || ALSO NEW UPDATE of art from the amazing corvus/jules of a precious little moment; thank you again for rendering this moment so sweetly !!! https://twitter.com/corvusou/status/1345069158069907456


	12. ACT II • BEGOTTEN RICHES || behind the curtain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Atlas Project Operation six successful weeks in, the station's Commander and Director have also moved forward and upward in their relational ladder. A Captain has to make a temporary goodbye, however, and some Reclamation Project personnel start doing some deeper digging into the time-displaced sphere. 
> 
> In which: hands are kissed, a hologram is questioned, Vulcan is whispered, and a riddle is given in three parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU THOUGHT WE WERE DONE WITH PLOT SHENANIGANS OH BOY 🎉🎉🎉 || Welcome to the semi-official "part 2" of this fic hope you enjoy your stay || IIRC vorik is ~20 by the time voyager gets yeeted into the delta quadrant so in this fic he's 43 and v'evik is 26 || my brain is mush plot shit can be SO HARD TO FOCUS ON but i hope y'all enjoy || hugh and geordi station dad vibes Increase || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 8, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE,"_ BARREN MOON TO CLASS L PLANET 'TAIJAL'**

> ** _> CH. 7, SCT. II - ON LIBERATED BORG/COOPERATION GENDER, SOCIAL INTERACTION, AND PERCEPTION - “AUGMENTATIONS AND THEIR EMPLOYMENT OF 'TRANSHUMANISM'" (WRITTEN BY JUNCTION HORUS, SUPERVISOR TO LT. CMR. DR. AMADEUS O’REILLY)_ **
> 
> _The Reclaimed are no strangers to connection. Whether it be the hydraulics cables that stitched our flesh and augments together, the infinite horizon of our Oppressors’ Hivemind, or the simple act of touch from individual intent- xBs require connection as much as we do personhood. Perhaps this is why, in our very nature, I (and other xBs) have found kinship with the Federation Standard term ‘transhumanism;’ defined as ‘a philosophical movement that advocates for the transformation of the human condition by developing and making widely available sophisticated technologies to greatly enhance intellect and physiology.” While not all xBs are limited to the original, human-scoped term, my people find themselves teetering the line of individual and collective conscience, biological versus machine- wading further into unknown waters to test what it means for us, as individuals, to experience life. We seek emulation, not imitation- inspiration, not direct impression, not to fill ourselves into molds made by others and make ourselves into another species’ image._
> 
> _So this, perhaps, is why xBs lend themselves to technological interfaces so much easier than other sapients. That we fortify ourselves in the very technologies that once imprisoned us, and instead use it to diagnose ourselves, to connect- to uplink, control, direct, communicate, create- push boundaries of what it means to comprehend individual existence on a technological and biological level! That we build, utilize, remove, or add upon our augments for whatever we want: for decoration, for comprehension, for creation, for mobility, for presentation and more! Our Oppressors attempted this technological advancement by force, and through the demiurge’s installment of their own silent, vengeful control, they failed spectacularly. The Hivemind has suppressed singularity, and in turn subjected the Collective to eternal cruelty in perpetuated ignorance and smothering the concept of self._
> 
> _We connect through our independent will. We connect by choice alone- bound, however, by the eternal paradox rooted in community and individuality. We connect by many things, all made by our reveling in and the indulgence in the concept of choice: from casual conversation over an observed habit, or inserting an interface cable into remnant ports by which to analyze a budding,newly-made program._
> 
> _Perhaps most significantly, however: we connect through transcendence. By having, communally, experienced a great vastness no non-xB will ever be able to describe, comprehend, or understand- surviving it individually, as supported by other individuals._
> 
> _I assure you, reader, that it is alright if you do not understand._ _  
> __We do not wish for you to understand us in totality. We have no need for you to understand us in totality. We wish, simply, to exist: to exist, to flourish, to thrive, to have our singular selves acknowledged, to have our community respected… and most significantly: to live._
> 
> _In this publication, I have written previously that our bodies are self-shaped temples forged by our own making, “with tools we built or 'reclaimed' from our Oppressors.” If what I have said is true, then the technology that remains forever woven within each xB stands as “relics” by which to channel another indescribable presence. A presence of community and connection- be it by sharing a cable to host a self-made palace of dreams, or running a caring, gentle, and purposeful touch over irremovable augments._

When xBs would shirk regeneration for the short-term rest of conventional sleep, their dreams were rarely pleasant. Without the streamlining assistance of alcoves, the addled minds that were once linked to billions of voices would run rampant with chaotic, loud, and unfocused thoughts, robbing them of the peace sleep was supposed to bring. The dreams of the Reclaimed ran the gamut of passionate, violent, vibrant, and even terrifying, according to the surveys xBs could conduct on Ohniaka III’s population- and only rarely would they experience sleep in the typically restful, peaceful associations so many other sapients had the luxury of in this galaxy.

Perhaps that’s why, then, Executive Director Hugh was so willing to listen to Geordi recount his dreams instead. 

The two took their time that evening, after their shared confessions and exchanged augments; taking time to explore, to learn, to tease, play, intrigue and enlighten. Oh, they’d had their handful of ‘pleasing’ encounters before, of course; but now this, _this-_ an extra boundary removed, extra care in each touch paired with celebrating their mutual adoration! As the Director had come to understand the “hands of a surgeon” metaphor from Beverly’s care, so too did Hugh learn the depths of the phrase an “engineer’s touch” from Geordi’s attention and care, the Director feeling him examine and memorize his body as thoroughly as the Commander would schematics of a newfound technological wonder. Which Hugh, had to wonder; weren’t they both already? One with cybernetics woven through his skull to help see the world around him, and the other reclaimed from the oppression of the Borg into the self-made man he was today? These waxing poetics, admittedly, came long after Hugh escorted Geordi back to his quarters; for as comfy as Hugh’s king-sized “recreation lounge” was, he had no bed nor morning garments by which to offer the Commander a good night’s sleep, and the two were well aware that spending a night cycle in each others’ quarters would certainly illicit some interpersonal gossip that may jeopardize operation focus and administrative jurisdiction.

Despite these hindrances, the two may or may not have teased the idea of acquiring homing transporters for easy access between their quarters. 

So, escorting the Commander back to the Starfleet quarters wing, Hugh savored the residual weariness in each step and admired the sight of the welt he saw peeking up and over Geordi’s uniform collar. During a quick ride in one of the decks’ turbolifts, it was extremely tempting for Hugh to take the Commander’s hand for himself and kiss it on the knuckles; for no other reason than to indulge himself in a spontaneous physical connection that, for the most part, was seemingly without consequence or intent. The mere fact Hugh imagined it for _himself,_ wanted to _do_ it himself _and_ Geordi without any further causation or provocation from whatever lingering knowledge the Collective imprinted upon him… perhaps that was the apotheotic nature of romance, he supposed; and what made this type of relationship so highly valued among his people.

So temptation gave way to act.

Geordi smirked and watched the xB play with his fingers.  
“You like hands, don’t you.”  
“Says the man who practically leapt from his _desk_ to steal my own after I pet a cat.”

Spontaneity made people braver. More unpredictable.   
More defiant; inherently themselves, perhaps.

Even 23 years later, Hugh still had so much to learn.   
To savor. To pleasure.

To become _more_ of, and add _onto_ , Hugh.

Finally, they reached Geordi’s quarters, and the Commander seemed to reciprocate Hugh’s desired spontaneity with his own restrained will. After the door opened from registering Geordi’s combadge, he turned back to Hugh and cusped the xB’s face in for a kiss. It was another memory to log into the catalogue of Hugh’s own, independent thoughts- stored in the infinite horizon that regeneration allowed him to sift through each time he stepped into that alcove, and it made him all the more excited to retreat into review of his own evening’s experiences.

“Well make good on that dream of mine one day,” Geordi mumbled into his ear after parting from the kiss, Hugh’s mind blossoming into anticipation and excitement. “I promise.”

“I trust you enough to not bind you to a promise, Geordi,” Hugh found himself assuring the Commander. “Because trust me when I say that, although _I_ may not dream pleasant things all too often… your dream is certainly one I wish to make reality one day, too.” 

And whether it was the sheer flattery of what Hugh said or the garish way in which the xB said it, Geordi’s faint, flirtatious smirk spread into a humored smile, papping the Director on the cheek as the door wooshed open.

“You and your-- God, you’re too much sometimes,” the Commander chuckled through his flushed cheeks. “How’d I get a boyfriend with a pretty little tongue like that, huh.”

> _[Augh, he-- said it again, every damn time--!]_

“Just-- go, go to bed;” Hugh insisted, “you’re going to make my cortical node overload if you keep that up.”

“Calling it like it is, Hugh,” Geordi reminded, obviously very charmed by the blush Hugh could tell he saw. The Commander smirked, finally sauntering in through his open quarters door. 

“Night, honey~.” 

The overt intimacy some humans could have was as boundless as it was flattering, Hugh concluded, the Director left reeling in his own darkening blush and stupefied wave as Geordi winked and the door sealed shut. 

“G-good night--” 

While Hugh wouldn’t sleep for another two hours after returning to his quarters (no thanks in part due to sending Crosis a photo of Geordi’s VISOR with the xB immediately tromping down the hall to “hear all the details”), the Director awoke from regeneration refreshed and reinvigorated the next morning, ready to tackle the day and bid farewell to Captain Crusher and the _Pasteur_ . It was bittersweet, almost- to start the morning with a saddening goodbye after such a jovial evening with Geordi; but the xB took comfort and revelry in the fact he and the Commander would see her again very soon, and that Geordi had already “spilled it” to Beverly about their exchanged augments. So, with all Crosis, Vorik, Geordi, and Hugh escorting Captain Crusher and her two Lieutenant Commanders to _Solstice’s_ transporter bay, Vorik stood dwarfed by Crosis’ side at the control console, Beverly turning to face Geordi and Hugh before boarding the pad herself. 

“You both go on ahead,” the Captain ushered with a fluttering hand and gentle voice, “I’ll be over in a bit; just have some parting words for these station managers here. Tell Chief Jay to get us warmed up and out of orbit, and we’ll head off as soon as I’m back on the bridge.”  
The two agreed with “Yes Ma’am”’s as Vorik beamed them out, Beverly turning her gaze back to the four at attention.

“Well Commanders, Directors,” she sighed, firming her smile with a proud little grin, “it’s been lovely resupplying your endeavors here at _Solstice,_ and seeing _how_ those resupplies are being used for the betterment of this operation’s core mission. Just _as_ lovely as that, however, if not more… has been seeing _you_ two again, Geordi- Hugh. I look forward to our short-term reunion a month and a half from now. Director Crosis, Commander Vorik,” Crusher offered, “a pleasure meeting and working alongside you both, as well.”

Hugh beamed as he heard Crosis shuffle in place behind him. “The pleasure was all ours, Captain.”  
“My sentiments are equivalent to the Director Second, Captain.” 

“And it’s been our pleasure _hosting_ you, Captain Crusher,” Geordi chimed brightly. “We thank you again for your medical expertise, as well as your vessel’s willingness to resupply us.” 

“Mm, I must agree with the Commander; many Reclamation Project staffers feel quite enriched from both the _Pasteur’s_ provided stock, _and_ exchanged knowledge between our collaborating personnel. You have both our eternal thanks and utmost gratitude,” Hugh told her, feeling a grin squirm onto his lips, “a sentiment I wholeheartedly- and individually- share.”

She hung on their words for a savored moment- a polite smile on her lips and confident posture holding her head high… and suddenly, gracefully, Beverly took one of each of Geordi’s and Hugh’s hands, giving them firm squeezes as her gaze darted between them. 

“Take care of each other,” she told them.   
Urged them, Hugh could even call it. 

“I’m proud of what you’ve both been overseeing out here. Keep it up. You already make an excellent team,” Beverly offered, earning extra grins out of him and Geordi, “I just feel... blessed to have seen the inception of it all. To have seen _your_ inception, Hugh- and you, Geordi...” the Doctor shook her head, a lifetime’s worth of memories hanging heavy in her eyes. “I’m blessed to know you, dear.”

“Aw- you’re not the only one who feels blessed, Bev,” Geordi said. “And you take care out there too, Captain. Don’t know when you’ll be swinging around the Alpha-Gamma Quadrant borders beyond the gala in the next four and a half months, but give us a call if you need to make a pit stop.”

“The _Pasteur_ and her crew will be sure to.”

“And thankfully, I think we’ll manage to ‘cooperate’ well enough while you’re gone, all things considered.”

Beverly smirked at this, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head and a hand lovingly papping the bundle of three. 

“Seems to be something you and your people are very good at, Mr. Hugh.”  
Hugh felt his cheeks flush. “We try, Beverly.”  
“I find you certainly succeed. Ah, and; one more thing I’d like to impart, if you’d indulge me...”  
“Oh?” Geordi asked. “What’s on your mind, Bev?”

She sighed through her nose before responding.

“I would like to see you share a dance, in a month’s time,” Captain Crusher asked. “Call it a fleeting imagination and wish fulfillment on my end, but… I’d like to see that. You two would be quite striking together, I believe.” 

And with her voice falling to a whisper, she winked, leaning in so only they could hear.

“Get to practicing.”

And before _they_ could ask her why _she’d_ ask for this, Crusher shook their hands one more time and surrendered her grip, smirking and standing up a bit straighter as she turned to ascend the transporter platform. With a nod, she bade the company goodbye, and Vorik beamed the Captain out in a fleeting curtain of energy.

“There she goes,”Geordi sighed.  
“We’ll see her again soon, at least.”

Geordi paused, the edge of Hugh’s sight noticing the Commander turn his head towards him.

“We’ll have to pick a song to practice with, you know.”  
Hugh smirked. “I’m certain we could find _something_.” 

As the group made small talk and departed to check their day’s itinerary, Hugh gave a nod to Geordi in reference to their earlier messaging, the xB beginning to trail after Vorik. “Commander Vorik,” Hugh called after the Vulcan, Vorik raising an eyebrow as he stopped and turned to observe the Director, “I apologize I was not able to convene with you before attending Captain Crusher’s departure; I had something I wished to discuss with you regarding personal affairs.”

The Vulcan nodded. “Correct. And If you are approaching me so quickly and _intently,_ and if I consider the subject of the Commander and I’s own discussion,” Vorik alluded in a quieter voice, “may I draw a logical conclusion as to your reasons for conversation?” 

The Vulcan continued to watch him, Hugh surprised by how much the _Voyager_ veteran could resemble his own people’s stoicness.

The xB swallowed. “We felt it would be right of you to know, considering I informed Director Second Crosis due to our own past and current history. Also, I would like to _not_ be managing the Atlas Project with you thinking we did not trust you as an officer or person, regarding our lives for the next 136 days aboard this station.”

“Your candor is noted and appreciated, Director Hugh.”

Vorik considered his words further.

“One thing I am finding that I rather appreciate about the Cooperation culture,” the Vulcan noted, “is the bluntness of xBs, sir. As much as I will praise my time onboard _Voyager,_ for all the favorable and _un_ favorable experiences… we had many problems that could have been much more quickly solved, if near-abrasive honesty were traded in more acceptable amounts between personnel. ...Musings regarding my former crew aside,” the Vulcan continued, “I do not plan to make mention of it, as that is not my place to discuss or pry into personal relations- so long as progress on the Atlas Project continues according to schedule and productivity. Should I notice any behavior or work-affecting patterns that might pose a risk to this project or its staff, I shall voice my concerns to the appropriate channels. But, based on my _current_ observations of our progress so far, _and_ yours and the Commander’s oversight so far,” Vorik considered with the faintest hint of amusement, “if we continue as-is and in… more _open_ regards, I am certain we will even _exceed_ expected mission quota.”

And while he knew Vorik would most likely not respond physically to it, Hugh couldn’t help but offer a small grin to communicate that reassurance.

“Thank you, Commander. I am fortunate the Reclamation Project is able to work alongside an officer such as yourself.”

The Commander paused again in stifled flattery.  
Putting together his experience from all Starfleet diplomacy, Vulcan xBs, V’evik, and now Vorik, Hugh realized Vulcans accepted compliments in a very charming manner.

“I also wanted to inquire, since I have your audience; Junction V’evik informed me of your meditation sessions with them,” Hugh noted, following alongside the Subcommander. “Have your meetings been going well?”

“In ways I would not have expected, but readily accept. While we have practiced traditional observances originating from Vulcan, V’evik has begun instructing _me_ in techniques that their own Vulcan xB acquaintances on Ohniaka III practice,” Vorik noted. “They are methods and various philosophical musings that apparently a large cloister of Vulcan xBs began to develop. A ‘cross-cultural pollination,’ I believe the phrase goes,” he offered, “one I hope my home planet is willing to exchange as any deserving diaspora from Vulcan. Vulcans, Director, may _try_ to boast as having no superficial egos to bruise or need to empower, but I would only hope that my people are... ‘proud’ of them. Just as much as I am.”” 

“There will be a very small envoy of Vulcan xBs arriving from Ohniaka III for the Midway Gala, actually,” Hugh led him in on with a brightening grin, “I have--”

“Director,” Vorik interrupted, “I thank you immensely for telling me, but someone on this station has already ‘beaten you to it,’ I believe the saying goes. Partially since they _know_ all four Vulcan xBs in question, and V’evik has told me in enthusiastic, _extensive_ detail.”

Hugh allowed his smirk to pop back through. “V’evik is younger than us older guard,” the Director offered, “and rediscovering life again as they once knew it. For as much amusement as Vulcans allow themselves to have, I say let them have it.” 

“Less of refusa--”

Hugh’s combadge chirped. “ _Executive Director Hugh: this is Junction Five, respond-”_

Junction Five was onboard the sphere today, wasn’t she? 

Hugh papped his chest. “Go ahead.”

 _“Sirs,”_ the Engineer started, _"it is regarding_ _V’evik in the ionic/tachyon residue disturbance we were researching in Hull level 1, deck 6. I have a medical staffer en route, but I also request Director Second Crosis and Commanders La Forge and Vorik’s presences as well.”_

Hugh and Vorik traded concerned looks. 

“We will begin transport request immediately, Junction,” Hugh said, “what exactly--” 

_“Something has gone wrong with a diagnostic interface, Sir,”_ Five admitted, the light notes of concern in her voice unmistakable over the combadge. _“I am attempting to diagnose what could have happened, but V’evik became unresponsive, and Atlas’ holo-matrix is nowhere to be found on the station after V’evik began their routine cybernetics recoupling prep.”_

Before Hugh could process any sort of worry, instinct took over: “We’ll be there as soon as possible,” the Director assured, “thank you Junction, and stand by.”

_“Hurry, Director.”_

The two immediately turned back towards the transporter room they had come from, Hugh trying to stifle his rapidly-roiling concern with a sigh. 

“A bitter coincidence, I suppose.”  
Vorik’s lips were thin. “Indeed, Director.” 

Hugh activated his combadge as they walked. “Director Hugh to Commander La Forge; respond.”

* * *

**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

One thing that Starfleet had taught Commander Geordi La Forge, in all his years serving, was that folks in engineering had a unfortunately-consistent knack for getting into trouble. 

Geordi could only hope that today, that “trouble” was not lethal, as engineering could _also_ have an unfortunate knack for.

By the time he, Crosis, Hugh, and Vorik were beamed to the exact coordinates inside the sphere sent to _Solstice’s_ transporter terminal, Five was debriefing the medic who’d just arrived, greeting their group with a restrained nod as she spoke. While Geordi tried to give his undivided attention to Five, his eyes were unable to help but glance to V’evik five meters down the hall; sealed off by a temporary containment wall, but their stoic stance was all kinds of haunting and concerning for the Commander. Similar to how the Vulcan originally attempted to interface with the Queencell’s command console (and Geordi having seen xB linkups in action), the Cybernetics Junction’s arm was inserted into the wall, but with far more minuscule cables and tubes leaching into their prosthetic arm’s joint slots from the rolled up sleeve. V’evik simply… stood there, unmoving, black-and-green eyes fixed on the wall- Geordi’s own vision able to tell there was an unsettling paleness to their skin even from a side profile. Their cheek was also… what was that, pulsating? Rippling?, near their “spider web” cheek implant, wondering whether or not this was some sort of latent assimilation technique the queen planted there before her severance.

Geordi couldn’t stomach the thought of a null assimilation like this. Not to anyone.   
Not to V'evik, especially.

“And we cannot just recall or end Atlas' program?” Hugh asked.

“Negative, Director,” Five admitted, “it is currently in use; any external execution of what he may be running may result in complete and total corruption. We'd ran the requested scans on the tachyon/ion residue like you said, V'evik plugged themselves into the port to analyze for any possible infrastructure contamination as normal. V'evik said they 'noticed some strange, residual diagnostic files' absence' in this chamber while they were upliked, would explore with their cortical node computations, and...” Five sighed, worry having well already tired her expression. "That was when Atlas' hologram vanished. I saw no ill intent from Atlas; they were just as... surprised, I suppose, as I was then. I simply apologize for being unable to stop it. It- the port pulled their arm in as you see now, they pushed me away before any uplink cables could also use me for what I assume to be additional processing power for them and Atlas' combined weight--" 

"Five," Hugh stopped her with, "It is alright. I simply thank you for being here with them."

Geordi fixed his jaw, digging through his own thoughts.

“Vorik,” the Commander spoke, “to my recollection of your Starfleet records, _Voyager’s_ EMH Mk. I once had an occasion where he temporarily downloaded his matrix into Seven of Nine’s cortical node. Could this be a similar situation?”

“I was just considering the possibility, Commander,” Vorik concurred. “Atlas’ subroutine protocol as the ship maintenance AI could have been alerted, recalling his program back to ‘block a foreign presence’ once V’evik interfaced here.”

Crosis turned to the Starfleet officers. “A hologram into a cortical node?” he repeated, “How?”

“The Doctor is resourceful, as he is clever. But if he successfully performed a similar feat over 20 years ago,” Vorik mused quickly, “and considering the Junction’s current predicament, then it must be postulated the same could work for V’evik, too. ...If under much different, possibly detrimental circumstances.” 

Hugh swallowed.

“Crosis,” Hugh said, “send out a facility-wide message: every Reclamation Project staffer currently servicing repairs or research is to work _off-_ interface or disconnect themselves immediately. We cannot have any possible repeats, possibly harming Atlas _or_ V’evik in the process.”

“Understood, sir.”

While Crosis began fiddling on his PADD, he and the group turned their attention back to V’evik, Geordi sighing through his nose as he watched the Junction on the other side of the force field. 

“I can see why witnessing my own experience may have been unsettling,” Hugh admitted, “at least they are not _wholly_ consumed by it.”

 _Yet_ , Geordi feared bitterly.

“At least. ...One more time on itinerary, then?”

“We lower the force field,” the Subcommander repeated, “and I will establish a connection with V’evik. Once contact has been made, Director Hugh and Junction Five will attempt to extract Atlas, and Director Crosis and Commander La Forge attend to sealing off the testing chamber while Medical Relay Four stabilizes them. ...Possibly _us_ , though I hope not for that.” 

Hugh swallowed. 

"Lower the force field, Five." 

And she hit the proper controls to make the wall crackle into nothingness, the group taking position as they very gently, carefully, began to approach the interfaced cyberneticist. 

V’evik's turned towards the meandering group: their skin pale, veins grey and sickly, eyes clouded in the same black-and-green cubical haze that Director Hugh was subjected to, in all the infinite information untempered by Vulcan logic sprawled out before them.

“Junction V’evik-” Vorik said tightly, the hint of concern in the Vulcan’s voice not going unnoticed. “V’evik- you must speak to us.”

Another pause.   
Vorik cautiously stepped forward.

“Are you... currently housing Atlas' base program--” 

The amalgamation did not respond.

“...Atlas?”

No response came from the xB, causing Vorik furrow his brow.

“For the health and safety of my subordinate,” Vorik asked, _pleaded_ as he stepped forward, “to whom am I speaking with.”

V’evik, their face twitching by mere millimeters, finally reacted. 

**“D-dakh--”**

Vorik stopped.

**“Dakh pthak--”**

Geordi listened intently.

By linguistic and cultural osmosis over the years, the Commander recognized this to be the Vulcan words for “Cast out fear.”

Hugh's visible worry increased, Geordi noticed, the Commander knowing well that the vocal distortion similarities between V'evik's and his own interface probably not the most comforting of sounds.. 

“V’evik?” the Director tried.

 **“Dakh pthak...”** the xB managed in a voice similar to Hugh’s, **“N-nam-tor ri ret-- na'fan-kitok... fa tu dakh pthak--”**

Geordi (and most likely the xBs from Collective-instilled knowledge) knew this phrase.   
It was a well-known, beloved teaching of Surak among Vulcans.

 _Cast out fear._ _  
__There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear._

From their nose, a dark green dribble began to run down the xB’s lip and over their mouth.

V’evik’s line of sight, finally, locked with Vorik’s.  
Without any hint (or allotment) of grief, tear streaks suddenly ran in tandem with the blood. 

“ _Disengage_ , V’evik--” Vorik said, surging forward and setting a hand on V’evik’s shoulder to offer some sort of break in sensation before reaching his other hand out to mindmeld. Immediately upon touching the other Vulcan, however, the Junction gave a sharp cry as the cables began to release themselves from their prosthetic arm, Crosis barely managing to catch V’evik before they fell limp to the ground. Their skin barely began to fade back to its original hue and ceased nanoprobe-induced flurry, emerald smears on V’evik’s cheek, nose, and chin as Vorik and Crosis made sure they were lying prone on their back while blood leaked out of their nose. The xB was obviously experiencing some sort of non-verbal crisis- perhaps in a caliber similar to what he remembered Director Hugh exhibited during _his_ initial engagement with Atlas, and Geordi was surprised by the depths of concern he saw Vorik exude towards the younger xB as he hovered over them.

From what Geordi remembered of Vorik’s Starfleet files, the 43 year-old Vulcan didn’t have much to arrive back to other than Starfleet opportunities once _Voyager_ had made it home.  
Much less, unfortunately, any _one_ ; for his proposed spouse had left their betrothal in Vorik’s absence, and he currently had no registered mate(s) or children, his parents having passed away before _Voyager’s_ 2371 launch.

It was bittersweet, then, to watch the silver-streaked Vulcan tend to the xB, in a manner similar to how Geordi occasionally saw Beverly hover over Wesley.

As Crosis got up and quickly joined the Commander for their assigned work, Geordi listened to his Subcommander speak. “V’evik,” Vorik uttered over the Medical Relay’s hypospray, “listen to me. Focus on my voice.” 

As the group worked to the sound of force fields re-stabilizing, panels being slid, and UI confirmations sealing off jittering parts of the wall, the only reply the group heard was a vocal shudder, a hard sniff, and rustle from V’evik.

“Interface cables sealed,” Hugh confirmed. 

“I still can’t pinpoint Atlas’ program deployed anywhere on the ship, Commander,” Five noted as she looked to her PADD, “he might be still _inside_ Junction V’evik’s Cortical Node.” 

Before Geordi could respond, his Subcommander was already adjusting his hand against V’evik’s face.

“Then I will have to ask him to _leave_ it.”

The Vulcan closed his eyes.

“My mind, to your mind,” Vorik spoke quietly, “my thoughts, to your thoughts…” 

It was quiet.

Medical Relay Four at V’evik’s other side was glued to their tricorder.  
Crosis finished sealing off the area that once housed the observed tachyon phenomena.  
Geordi meandered behind where Vorik knelt over the xB.

Five blipped on her PADD, still searchi--

And all at once, everything seemed to happen. 

V’evik gasped and hollered, an AI’s hologram began to fizzle back into existence strained and writhing, Vorik was flung backwards, and Geordi managed to catch Vorik’s hand that had been on V’evik’s face for mindmel--

Geordi was pulled into something at the touch of his hand.

Something powerful.  
Something haunting.  
Something he would not soon forget.

 _•  
_ _Down a hall, seven flashlights shone on a figure in a hallway dark as night  
•  
_ _The crowd, the source of the flashlights, were huddled tightly together in the dark  
•  
_ _A red-and-green augment light blinks  
•  
_ _The chitter of_ **Reclamation Project scanners, Geordi hears,** _ping rapidly, the sounds of metallic footsteps echo in the attacked, assimilated, severed, abandoned Vulcan Science Institute Research Outpost, the rustling of phasers and batons the only thing heard as the footsteps grow closer  
•  
_ _The light suddenly collects on the source of the footsteps, now stopped and stationary as a figure, a Borg drone, as_ **V'evik, Geordi sees,** _stares at them, mouth agape, jaw shuddering  
•  
_ _They stop  
•  
_ _An arm rotted off, hydraulics cords broken  
•  
_ _The light in their left augment blinks; the same pattern as before  
•  
_ _They do not understand The Noise, their voice  
•  
_ _They cannot Hear it  
•  
_ _A Vulcan morse code, one says  
•  
_ _‘Emergency Hail’  
•  
_ _A_ **Reclamation Project personnel, Geordi hears,** _steps forward  
•  
_ _They are speaking, it is their leader  
•  
_ _A figure emerges: one hand on a baton, one hand held out to the group, a voice outside of Them says 'hold fire’  
•  
_ _Someone other than them,_ **Geordi sees** , _outside of themself, is approaching,_ **Hugh, Geordi sees-  
** _•_ **  
**_They are unknown  
•  
_ _They are outside  
•  
_ _And we  
•  
_ _We are outside?  
•  
_ _What is I, where is we?!  
•  
_ _Unknown, foreign, not of us  
•  
_ _But now reality, separate, singular, other  
•  
_ _And the Borg drone,_ **V'evik, Geordi see** **s,** **the individual--** _  
  
•  
_ _  
Screams  
  
•  
_

Geordi gave a hard gasp as Vorik let go of his hand, the Commander blinking as he settled himself in the present and away from that momentary flash. Even the Vulcan had to regain his ground, the Subcommander straightening both his head and pace of breath. Geordi, meanwhile, blinked once, twice- wrenching his eyes shut and rubbing his face to make sense of the world around him…

And suddenly, the familiar weight of Hugh’s hand rested on Geordi’s shoulder, the Commander sighing as his free hand rested on top of the xB’s. 

“Commanders?”  
“I’m alright, Hugh,” Geordi managed with a nod, “I’m okay; thank you. Vorik, are you--”  
“Adjusting, Commander,” Vorik managed in a shaking voice. “Relay Four--”

Geordi’s first glance, admittedly, went to V’evik, and his consciousness threatened to dissolve into static once again. 

_The flash of that memory returned, rivaling the strength of today’s event--_

And to pull himself from that spiral, Geordi breathed deeply, sighed slowly, and offered a small prayer of thanks that the Vulcan xB was alive and here today. 

Vorik, finally, cleared his throat.

“I... apologize, Commander,” Vorik said in a strained voice. “I-I should have been more careful in exiting the mindmeld. Vulcan points of physical contact are very heightened in sensitivity after connections of such caliber-”

“No,” Geordi assured, “that’s alright; no need to apologize. Glad you’re alright.”  
“Did, ah… did you see-”  
Geordi's voice was hushed and quick. “Yes.”

“They’re stabilizing, sirs,” the Relay announced, V’evik’s eyes closed somewhat peacefully and their breathing at least slowing. “Whatever you pulled them back with, Commander Vorik, it worked. I will have them transported to Medical Junction Troval’s department on _Theta_ once they are able to be moved for further analy--”

“ **S-she- she** _ **kno** ws _something--”

Everyone was quiet at V’evik’s voice. 

The group instantly condensed around the Vulcan xB, Hugh murmuring an “I’ve got them” as Geordi and Vorik were still too out-of-sorts after their tangential mindmeld with the xB. 

“V’evik,” Hugh spoke gently and taking their opposite hand, “please, save all information once you have rested; this wa--”

“Let me say it first,” they interrupted as their voice returned to normal, “please, i-in case I--”

They started over, Geordi watching the xB swallow and grip the Director’s hand tightly.

“She _knows_ something, Director,” they spoke through clenched, shuddering teeth. “S-sealed it from… Atlas, every drone on this sphere and the Collective, she-- the Queens, they were… working on _something._ For the war. She, t-they-- tried to activate it, and--”

Geordi watched Hugh’s eyes widen.  
Silent, uneasy glances were thrown every which way.

Geordi, in his observation, was suddenly reminded from his stupor that Atlas had appeared again, the hologram watching the young Vulcan intently and with equal worry on his typically-stoic face. 

_Worry?_

“Say only what you’re able to, V’evik,” Hugh told them quietly. “Do not strain yourself any further than you already.” 

“They deleted it all, sir,” V’evik finally spat out, “everything, _everything_ related to it, b-because they… the Queens, Collective were afraid of _them_ finding it, perfecting it, using it--!”

Hugh swallowed, his curiosity obviously rivaling concern.

“Finding _what_ , V’evik,” Hugh allowed himself.

The Vulcan’s jaw shuddered through the blood that smeared their mouth.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” they admitted. “All that I know, was that it _existed,_ and now it is _gone._ I could see, all _we_ could see that it was… a _place_ ,” V’evik started, “a _person_ … and a _road_. All in one. But that’s-- that’s all I know, Director, I am sorry, that is all we could--”

Geordi’s heart ached as Hugh tried to shush the young xB and assure them it’d be alright, the Director and Vorik exchanging nods as the Subcommander meandered slowly towards V’evik. 

“I will go to Junction Troval’s department with you,” the Subcommander offered, kneeling in Hugh’s place. “In case my services and company are required.”   
“C-commander--”  
Vorik took their hand and urged something in quiet, peaceful Vulcan, the Junction’s head thudding backwards and their eyes fluttering shut once more.

“Are we alright to transport?”  
Relay Four nodded. “Tricorder readings indicate so. Director Hugh, may we depart?”  
“Permission granted.”   
“Medical Relay Four of Nine to Medical Junction Troval,” the xB called, “three to transport.”  
 _“Understood; beginning emergency transport in five seconds.”_

And the three shimmered out of existence off to Tactical Cube _Theta’s_ medical wing, the rest of the company left in the silence and gravity of these clues strewn at their feet.

Geordi sighed.

“Don’t suppose those three things ring any bells for anyone, do they?”

The group was quiet, Crosis shaking his head and Five running a hand over her chin.

Of course not.

With the immediate focus for concern on V’evik being removed, however, they were free to divert newfound attention back onto the re-materialized Atlas again; who looked all sheepish, taxed, and deflated in newfound regret.

The hologram sighed shakily.

“I will explain what I can.” 

_A place, a person, and a road._

Geordi dearly hoped Atlas _could_ explain.

* * *

The rest of the day, unfortunately, proved to have little room for musings on this three part riddle for Geordi.

An interview with a hologram, an incident report filed, check-in on V'evik in _Theta's_ sickbay, quarantining of the near-lethal access port corridor, _and_ described overview of Captain Crusher's resupply visit sent to Starfleet HQ later, Commander La Forge was exhausted from the day's labors, happy to be waiting for a sphere's turbolift side-by-side with Hugh to head back to _Solstice._ Troval, predictably, did not let any company stay longer than necessary, only allowing Vorik to watch over them like a hawk in case his "Vulcan talents" were required again. The crew who had been in attendance to the incident, however, offered what they could; Five brought a regenerating V'evik their reading PADD and a hand-written note, Crosis dropped off a thermos full of Vulcan tea and a wobbly little clay cup he made in the style of Vulcan teaware (apparently the big guy did pottery?), and Vorik only left when V'evik entered regeneration for the second time, Troval assuring the Subcommander that he could leave at the Betazoid's "doctoral insistence" and revving a large surgical saw to life while preparing for another Reclamation Procedure.

Hugh and Geordi, as fate would ill give them, happened to come during this second regeneration- the two giving nods of thanks to Troval, as they were simply happy to see V'evik's skin its original hue. For what the Commander knew of "null assimilations," as they were called, were a fate Geordi wished on no one; nanoprobes with no Collective to connect to, they simply "ate" the body inside-out until the cybernetics fulfilled their purpose of organic immolation and left the "drone" to die. Currently, there were techniques on Ohniaka III in development to try and repurpose "null assimilation" for physical therapy augmentations and bodily stabilization, Ohniakan cyberneticists trying to balance the invasive nature of nanoprobes with the possibility of doing further quality-of-life enrichment for xBs. But these trials were still in their very early stages, and V'evik would've received nothing in the way of care from the very nanoprobes they researched.

Before this serene visitation, however, was a well-needed talk with Atlas, which Geordi yawned at remembering the fact he still had a call to put in when he got back to _Solstice._

>   
>  _“They’re in stable condition; might be a little shaky for the next couple of days, but for the most part fine,” the Commander had told the xB hologram._
> 
> _Hugh had followed up, reading off his PADD: “Troval_ is _having to, however, clean the excess nanoprobes out of their system. Typically a humanoid xB hosts about 3.8 million units, depending per species- V’evik’s last count was nearly double that, at 6.8 million. We should be thankful, at least, their presence did not execute a null assimilation."_
> 
> _“It was not me,” Atlas insisted, huffing with a furrowed brow. “A-at least, it-- my presence there was not my intention. The latent protocols of the ship sensed a new interface input from V’evik, granted the usual permissions in the Sphere’s diagnostic programming, but I… it was something about that department’s security measures in that area, and the missing data relay that pulled my holo-matrix in; I..."_
> 
> _It was the first time Geordi had seen this strong of an emotional expression from Atlas._
> 
> _"I fear what would have happened if I did not have the clarity I do now; if I were rather just my core programming instead of... myself. I could have- the ship could have reabsorbed them_ for _a nulling_ , _very easily. I should-- I must conduct diagnostics, I cannot-”_
> 
> _“Atlas,” Geordi stopped him, "it's... alright. We're just happy you both are unharmed. For the uh- most part."_  
>  _"And we are thankful you_ have _that clarity, Atlas," Hugh offered. "But regarding what V'evik spoke of... you truly have no record or recollection of this phenomena?”  
> _ _"Unknown in entirety, Director. Whatever I may have known, the Queen most likely erased before our submatrix collapsed.”  
> _ _"And you have no suspicion of what it could be?"  
>  "I will attempt to theorize using what resources my program has."  
> "Not so much so you accidentally trigger something for yourself like V'evik," Geordi reminded. "We'll figure it out. We've got time." _
> 
> _Atlas had nodded.  
>  But then, Geordi noticed, he bit his lip before continuing._
> 
> _“I must also confess to you- Director, Commander,” the hologram admitted, “the company I have onboard... while I have learned from the xBs and Starfleet personnel, I-- my existence, it is..."_
> 
> _Hugh watched him. "Atlas?"_
> 
> _"It is different," Atlas finally said, "I am photonic. You are not. And though we are bound, Director, as xBs and from our interface, I-- seek counsel in this, I seek balance. I fear I harmed V'evik today- by ignorance of my own nature, of ignorance of what to do inside their cortical node! And I do not_ know _any other photonics by which to answer my... questions, my state of being. Withdrawing into my hologenerator is only provides temporary relief, and I--"_
> 
> _"You're lonely," Hugh noted, "in your... own way."_
> 
> _Atlas allowed himself a restrained nod.  
>  So did Hugh.  
> "From what I have learned and what I know... I believe so, Director." _
> 
> _"I can only apologize we did not consider this upon your Enlightenment."  
>  "It has taken me this long to verbalize my state, Director Hugh. I would not have expected you to immediately recognize what you were not familiar with, but... thank you." _
> 
> _Geordi turned his head to Hugh, his eyes looking his partner up and down. Oh, he was thinking alright: rubbing his thumb and pointer together in a fist in front of his mouth, brow furrowed, eyes probably running hundreds if not thousands of microcalculations..._
> 
> _And Geordi watched with admiration, delight, and curiosity as Hugh ended his train of thought, the xB grinning up to Atlas upon a realization that Geordi could only guess what._
> 
> _"Atlas," Hugh finally spoke. "When we were interfaced... did you see into my memories at all of my Reclamation Procedure from 2378?"_
> 
> _He pondered for a moment. "If I did, my advanced holo-matrix memory banks are currently being analyzed for any anomalies, and I cannot access them for the time being. Why do you--"  
> _
> 
> _"I have an old, photonic acquaintance," Hugh crooned, "my second doctor after Crusher, I suppose you could call him. He has a... highly esteemed place in our people's history, on Ohniaka III and xBs in general- I imagine he would find kinship in your predicament, Atlas. Who knows; perhaps even_ Troval _would appreciate the extra hand._ "
> 
> _Oh, Geordi knew_ exactly _who Hugh was talking about now._
> 
> _"Gonna ask a doctor for a house call, then?" Geordi caught on, all smirks and smiles as he adjusted into his seat with a confident little bop.  
>  "I'd have to consult Starfleet itinerary to see if he can in the _first _place," Hugh noted, "but I'd certainly like to."  
>  "You're gonna need some help accessing those levels of personnel reports, you know."   
> "Ooo, now where would I get such assistance from?"   
> "Geordi wink with a smirk. "Think I might have an idea." _
> 
> _"Sirs?"_
> 
> _"To put it simply, Atlas," Hugh assured the hologram as Geordi pulled up some info on his PADD, "I would like to introduce you to the photonic who saved 1,227 Progenitor xB lives in the span of 76 hours, thanks to his efforts. He is a kind, bombastic clever man- entirely of his own making."_
> 
> _"Because if there's_ one _photonic in Starfleet history who's damn well familiar with the Borg, xBs, and developing sapience all on his own..." Geordi boasted, "it's the EMH Mk I."_
> 
> _The Commander, however, wiggled the Starfleet PADD. "I've got an update, though; he's at_ least _three weeks out if he can get transferred. Stationed at the border of the Delta quadrant, go figure."_
> 
> _Atlas allowed himself a small, hopeful, anticipatory little smile. "I believe I could wait."  
> _

So, after this long day of work, Geordi stole a quick peck from the Director's cheek three seconds into the sphere's turbolift (that Hugh returned with his own awkward mushing of lips). 

"A 'person, a place, and a road' that are all the same thing..." Geordi mused absently as he returned to his stance. "Any ideas?"

Hugh shook his head. "None in the slightest; and thankfully we have plenty of time to try and _solve_ it. Alongside any... well, what are sure to be 'lovely' interview questions with Queen 127 now, I suppose we have our research and readings cut out for us." 

Geordi tsk'ed playfully. "Ohhh, don't say 'readings;' I was about to dive into Chapter 7 of Doctor O'Reilly and Horus' writings tonight after I inquire about the Doctor!"  
"Ooo; if I recall correctly, those are the guest chapters written by Junction Horus, and... ah. Wonderful material; have fun, dear."   
"It's been some of my favorite stuff so far. _Alongside_ my nearest available consultant on xB culture, but I feel that's a given."  
Hugh smirked. "14 hours, 37 minutes into our relationship, and _already_ I have to listen to you talk like this..."   
"Oh, just wait, I'm gonna be _insufferable."_

Geordi beamed as the two chuckled with the hum of the sphere's turbolift.

“I wonder, however,” Hugh admitted after a brief silence, “why Junction V’evik reacted so poorly to their interfacing with Atlas, and I did not.”

“Mm- could be a multitude of factors,” Geordi postulated. “You _have_ been separated from the Collective for a far longer time than V’evik; perhaps Atlas’ refined sense of individuality maybe overloaded them, maybe they just went… looking for something where they shouldn’t have been looking. You heard it themself; V’evik tried to access old programs the Queens were working on, deleted, and it was just… too much for them, maybe.” 

“All worthwhile theories,” Hugh found himself assured, “I also forget that Vulcans are _much_ more sensitive to touch between their own than standard humanoids.”  
“Exactly; and _you_ weren’t snooping around trying to look for files made off-limits for your standard drone.”  
“Right you are.” 

The description of a memory hung on Geordi’s tongue before picking up conversation again. 

“I saw, by the way-” the Commander alluded, “you, in V’evik’s memory. Not a lot of it; but when I took Vorik’s hand to catch him out of the mindmeld, I- briefly saw what _he_ saw when he was connected.”  
“Oh?”  
“The Vulcan research outpost.”

Geordi watched Hugh sigh as the xB’s eyes grew heavier. 

“Ah,” Hugh started, “One of the largest conglomerates of Vulcans the Collective ever assimilated, from what we could tell- left to just… rot and fend for themselves after an ion storm severed their connection. The Borg took all the information they needed, and then just--” Hugh made a wafting motion with his hand in frustration.

“How long were they captive for?”

“Six years, four months, twenty one days. V’evik’s mother was a security officer and their father a scientist who were killed when the Borg arrived, from what we found of records and the Institute provided us.”

“And how long had they been separated from the Collective before you all got there?”

“Two weeks. When the Borg would not respond to their hails and the drones sent their emergency hail to Vulcan instead, the Science Institute itself reached out to us and asked if we would come and ‘collect them,’ as they put it,” Hugh alluded with an obvious distaste. “It was one of the first outside requests for Reclamation we had from a Federation-aligned species.”

Hugh paused. 

“How much did you see, Geordi?”  
“I think… right before V’evik fainted. There was... a hallway, a light blinking out some Vulcan morse, you and a group of about-- 10, I want to say...”

 _A really really unsettling and awful scream,_ Geordi didn’t have the courage to mention.

Hugh gave a weak grin, despite the recounting. 

“Subcommander Vorik and I were talking about them before Five called, actually, and… I’m proud of V’evik,” Hugh settled on. “You yourself saw they’ve come a long way, even in eight years. They give an older Progenitor like me hope for future xBs.”

 _Hugh wouldn’t be around forever, huh._  
A grief that Geordi was all too familiar with tried to lurch in his gut, before Geordi pulled his mind back to the present; the present with the man, the xB, the _partner,_ standing at his side _now_.

Just as Hugh had taken his hand last night and kissed his knuckles, so too did Geordi, his thumb rubbing small circles into the xB’s palm as he smiled into Hugh's soft skin.

“You have a lot to be proud _of_ , dear. ...As do I.”


	13. pleasing, pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second month of the Atlas Project in the bag? Let the Commander and Director celebrate with a little DIY fun, why don't ya. 
> 
> 18+ writings: the squeakquel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the Spice Zone™, part II || 100K REACHED ON THE HORNY CHAPTER BABEEEEEEY || a bit more raunchy than the first Spice Zone™ chapter so just a head's up but listen after everything these two have been through let them have FUN || needed something Fun And Optional after the kind-of-heavy past few chapters but also an excuse to get a good time-skip in for some more drama coming up so enjoy the horny and double update :) || link to the exampled knot can be found in fic, i try to give credit where credit is due and that studio's got some amazing art || geordi would Absolutely be into What You'll Read Below fight me || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 28, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION COMMANDER'S QUARTERS  
[AUTHORIZED ENHANCED PRIVACY PROTOCOLS ENGAGED: NO ENTRY PERMITTED UNLESS YELLOW AND/OR RED ALERTS DECLARED]**

“You’ve _never_ heard it before.”  
“No, Commander.”  
“Never?”  
“Not to my knowledge.”  
“Neverrrr; I can’t believe that!”  
“They probably just found it irrelevant; didn’t even care to log it.”  
“I mean sure, but- Really? _Never?_ ”  
“I _think_ I would remember a word like _that,_ considering how _excited_ you are about it.”   
“Huh. Damn, that’s just--” 

A click of Geordi’s tongue pierced through Hugh’s blindfolded vision, the sound of the other man’s laughter dancing on Hugh’s ears alongside the fibrous creak of rope. 

“Wow. _I_ know something the Borg _don’t_ ,” Geordi crooned, “that’s a pretty big accomplishment, I feel like. Or, _didn’t_ know, rather; maybe they’ve picked it up in the years since you’ve been gone.”

Hugh smirked. “Congratulations then, Commander; you’ve successfully taught the first-recorded Alpha Quadrant xB what the word ‘twink’ is. You must be excited.” 

The edges of Hugh’s grin grew wider as he heard Geordi’s amused chuckling draw closer, slow steps against the hard floor causing his heart to flutter as he heard the Commander stop near the edge of the bed…

And suddenly, Hugh felt the touch of Geordi’s fingertips rest against his jawline near the blindfold’s edge, a quiet gasp leaping from his throat and the xB straightening his posture ever the slightest as he rested on his knees at the mattress’ edge.

Geordi’s hand slid slowly, gently, down Hugh’s face as he spoke. “I’d say less ‘excited,’ Dear;” the Commander hummed, “I’m far more excited for _other_ things. ‘Amused,’ more than anything.” 

“Ohhh- perhaps ‘pleased,’ even?”

Hugh’s face split fully into a smile as Geordi’s thumb moved to rest in the divot of his chin- just like Hugh held Geordi’s all those weeks ago in Rec Room 4. 

“I could go with that.”

A savory kiss met Hugh’s lips, soothing and charming the nude Director; _despite_ the current predicament of his arms, chest, and neck bound by a rope, and a silken-black blindfold set carefully over his eyes. While the Commander and Director had celebrated the two-month marker of the Atlas Project’s progress last night with polite, political pleasantries exchanged over dinner and various Federation/Cooperation staff, this was the Director and Commander’s _personal_ celebration- a night all to themselves in the comfort of a Commander’s Quarters, bedroom, and Geordi’s masterful employment of Shibari onto a first-timer xB. Typically, Hugh liked to retain his full autonomy during sexual intercourse, considering control and individual freedom were core values for xBs. With as many responsibilities the Director shouldered, however, he occasionally indulged himself in shirking that weight for the pleasure of mutually-agreed upon submission, especially with a simplified chest, neck, and forearm knot of Geordi’s devisings[[.](https://www.instagram.com/p/BziUs3WCu06/)] The two had their fill of fun before the Commander revealed the bundle of rope with a proud little smirk: Hugh was taught the phrase “necking like teenagers” upon their kiss-littered greeting, Geordi was practically unable to keep his hands off Hugh and gracefully helped the xB out of uniform… The Commander even got the utter delight of being surprised with a plug lodged firmly between Hugh’s cheeks, and the bruises from their last encounter still somewhat visible (and sore). 

While Hugh’s innate, Collective knowledge granted him a basic understanding of “Shibari,” the subject came up two days ago after the Director noted Geordi’s unique, strong-looking knot on securing a temporary fastener on one of Atlas’ cable fixtures for later replacement. While he watched Geordi laugh it off with a shrug and an awkward little “thanks,” Hugh felt a strange mixture of… what was it- ‘pride?’ ‘Confidence?’ ‘Assuredness’ that, by his… partner, yes- _his partner’s!_ \- reaction, there was more to this action than just a simple power conduit reroute by repeated observations of his behavior. So Hugh, staying behind a few seconds longer and tapping into that Borg-given wellspring of knowledge, ran visual UI comparisons on the knot he saw before him to various Earthen cultures and-- oh. 

That couldn’t have been a coincidence now, could it? 

A gentle, playful, typically-xB-blunt question asked in a turbolift to the Commander confirmed it certainly _wasn’t._

And while Hugh reveled in the sight of a clearly-flustered Geordi, the Commander resting his elbow in one hand and holding his darkening cheek in the other, the Director mused on how, exactly, to _reclaim_ that Borg-given knowledge, and use it for his own (individual) experience.

> _The edge of Hugh’s sight caught Geordi giving him a bewildered, bashful double-take as he pondered this._
> 
> _“You’re not--”  
>  “Quite the contrary to your verbalizations, Commander,” Hugh crooned, “I _am _thinking about it, actually. And I suspect,_ despite _your verbalizations, that it is something you would_ like _me to think about.”_
> 
> _Hugh continued to stand and smirk pleasantly to himself in the turbolift, dismissing a visual UI notification alerting him of Geordi’s increased heart rate and ever-shifting microexpressions._
> 
> _Geordi cleared his throat and readjusted his posture._
> 
> _“You ever done it before?”_
> 
> _Hugh’s smirk widened. “No. The Collective’s resources are merely… extensive for visual comparisons, as they are thorough.”_
> 
> _The Commander scoffed. “I’ll say. How specific.”  
>  “Mm.” _
> 
> _The two allowed another silence to hang._
> 
> _“I-I mean if-- you’re sure and you'd wanna try, then--”  
>  “I think you’d make a much better teacher than anything my pre-instilled knowledge could offer an example of.” _
> 
> _Hugh turned his head to look Geordi over, and was beyond amused to see the other man also meeting his gaze with a sheepish, playful grin of his own._
> 
> _“Well, I wouldn’t be the one being made an example of,” the Commander told him. “If anything, you’re gonna have to be the canvas for that.”  
>  “You should know by now, dear, that xBs take great pride in personal expression and presentation."_
> 
> _Hugh noticed (and saved the memory of) Geordi’s smirk wriggling into a bashful little smile._
> 
> _“Not tonight,” the Director offered.  
>  “Definitely not tomorrow night.”  
> “Night after?”   
> _ _“Perfect. Gives us a chance to celebrate on our own, and me some time to brush up on my old tricks, anyway.”_
> 
> _An anticipatory silence electrified the air in the turbolift._
> 
> _“We’re starting off small first,” Geordi insisted with a shake of his finger, “Promise. Nothing too flashy or intricate for now; we’ll work up to bigger arrangements later.”_
> 
> _Hugh’s chest puffed with residual pride for his partner’s innumerable, intoxicatingly-intriguing skills._
> 
> _“I’m just impressed you know those ‘bigger arrangements’ already.”_
> 
> _The Commander chuckled. “Call me excited to work on a very nice canvas.”_

In the present, Geordi pulled back from the kiss, the Commander still so close that Hugh could feel the other man’s breath dancing on his lips.

“How’re you doing, by the way.”  
“Wonderful, Geordi.”  
“Comfy?”

Hugh let out a quiet little laugh at the choice of words as he heard Geordi stand up from bending over. “As ‘comfy’ as I could be in this. But all variables considered, very.”

“Glad to hear. You look _amazing_ , by the way.”  
“I believe your ‘handiwork’ is the one to thank for that.”  
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that’s _just_ from my handiwork,” Geordi crooned, Hugh feeling the other man’s hand trace down the rope that lined the back of his neck. “Helps when I have just as pretty of a model, dear.” 

Much like the incidental night Geordi caught Hugh shirtless in his quarters’ doorway, the xB could practically _feel_ the Commander “checking him out” again- the restraint of his forearms, chest, and sight a wonderful sensory conflict for Hugh as it rivaled the desire and warmth he felt blossoming in his chest and groin.

And as the Director’s cheeks began to ache from a residual, unrelenting grin, Hugh could _definitely_ see why some humans enjoyed this art form so much.

 _“_ So, Commander- now that I know what the word in question _means_ ,” Hugh mused, “what was the other version of it you said again?”  
“‘Twunk,’” Geordi repeated, “that’s what you’ve _become;_ because you are definitely _not_ a twink anymore.”

Hugh couldn’t resist a snort. “By what I’ve gathered of its definition from other species’ classifications, it’s impressive you could analyze me well enough during that time in my life to even _define_ me as that.”

“What can I say,” Geordi crooned, “the VISOR had its own visual perks.”  
“I didn’t realize Starfleet-issued VISORs had ‘twink scanners.’”

That got another laugh out of Geordi, Hugh’s sense of hearing desperately reaching out to try and define the other man’s proximity. “I _wish_ they did; would’ve made my Academy days a whole lot easier.”

“‘Easier’ or more ‘fun?’”   
“Both, now that you say that. But I think I’m happy enough right now with the ‘twunk’ I’ve got in front of me.”   
“And that’s a good thing?”  
“You don’t hear _me_ complaining.”   
“Oh, I hope not,” the xB sighed, “I quite _like_ the praise.” 

Hugh gasped again as Geordi’s hand barely skirted the top of his shaft, just enough to tease a phantom’s brush against the delicate skin- and before Hugh had time to linger on what _that_ hand was doing, Geordi’s other hand was tracing, molding, and rubbing at the edge of his lips with his thumb. 

“I can tell.”

Hugh couldn’t help but nibble at his lip. “So how did the term ‘twunk’ come to be?”  
“I’m gonna ruin the mood if I tell you, it’s so stupid.”  
“The word itself is already bordering on stupid… ‘absurd,’ ‘silly’ even- I’m curious to know what could be sillier than the word itself.”   
“Fine,” Geordi sighed, “don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re aware of the human or Federation Standard term ‘hunk,’ right-”  
Hugh squinted, even under the blindfold. “Yes?”  
“Right. So: put those two together, both their sound and meaning, aaand...”  
“I- so the two words, and original twin--” 

Hugh stopped.

The realizations immediately crossed their lingual, contextual junctions, and Hugh scoffed- reeling at the newly-defined word with a: “Geordiii, that’s-- augh, that’s ridiculous--” reflecting his sentiments as the Commander proudly, _loudly_ , cackled in amusement.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Geordi crooned, “my ridiculous, tied-up twunk.”

As Hugh started to come down from the humor of the moment, his chuckling was interrupted by Geordi’s palms suddenly resuming their handiwork, the xB graduating from gasps to anticipatory moans at the Commander’s increased fondling. What was before a fleeting, phantom’s touch at his cock was now a full-on fondling, the thumb _not_ currently pressing down on the top of Hugh’s shaft snaking its way into the xB’s mouth as the pressure of his plug made itself known again. It rivaled the instinctual tug and spasming that his arms and hands _wanted_ to do in response, but were held captive in place by the artfully-tied rope and his imagination let loose by the darkness of a blindfold. A wonderful combination of pleasure and combativeness, submission and resistance- the experience was a rotating mental attentiveness to Geordi’s hands, as the Commander stroked and ebbed Hugh’s hardening dick with one hand, and his thumb made play with Hugh’s lips and tongue with the other…

Resistance.   
The paradox of submission and resistance was a core element to it all.

Oh, Hugh was beginning to realize he quite _liked_ this, actually. 

“Mm-- you call me such... nice things,” Hugh murmured after Geordi pulled his fingers out of the xB’s mouth to cusp his cheek, “would you tell me another?”

“Good news: I can think of _much_ better things to call you,” Geordi mused in reply. Chills ran down Hugh’s spine as the Commander’s sweet voice was suddenly millimeters from his ear. “So many things, dear.” 

Hugh’s eyes fluttered under the blindfold as a smile-laced moan ecked out of his throat from another, harder stroke to his cock- earning the Commander his first hints of pre-cum.

“Doing alright, baby?”

“Oh,” Hugh sighed, “extraordinary, Geordi.”

The Commander made an amused hum as he smiled against Hugh’s cheek, giving it a tender little kiss… and then another, down to his neck, his collar (where he felt a great bruise might make itself known), and the hand formerly on Hugh’s cheek began to also slide downwards in tandem with Geordi… 

And the Director had no need for his cortical node to process or theorize what may be coming next, Hugh finding it difficult to focus on anything at all beyond the pleasure of his erotic predicament.

“Do you,” Hugh breathed, “do you need me to lean back at all-”

“Whatever’s most comfy for you, dear,” Geordi cooed, Hugh feeling Geordi’s unoccupied hand grasp his hip. “That plug still feel alright with the way you’re sitting?”

Hugh thanked the clarity of individuality for the ‘playful,’ ‘impish,’ _bratty_ little spark that suddenly surged through him.

“I’ll feel _much_ better,” the Director said through a grin, “when you have removed it, turned me over, and _fucked_ me with what I predict to be your own very erect self, Geordi.”

The grin only grew wider as a pause hung in the air.  
Hugh felt Geordi’s fingers drum against his pelvis. 

And an amused, chest-rumbling chuckle from the Commander made Hugh’s grin turn into a smirk.

“Well, Director,” Geordi said with a click of his tongue, “when you put it like _that…_ you can make a man very _excited_ , you know.”

“I have an inkling.”

“Do you, though?”

“I’d like to theori--” 

Hugh broke his sentence off in a cry and his bindings audibly tug in a spasm as Geordi suddenly motioned both his hands to hold the xB’s hips and took Hugh’s shaft in his mouth, the Director thankful for Geordi’s quarters’ enhanced privacy mode sound dampening. Hugh was _also_ very thankful he had no gag so he could verbalize his pleasure in whatever way he could; not only was Hugh keen on vocally letting Geordi know how wonderful every sensation felt, but he had turned down the offer made earlier by the Commander out of his own preference. Hugh had worked and operated on too many Silenced xBs and their Borg-instilled augments to find any joy in gags, especially when Hugh himself had vocal surgery and a voice he was very happy with (though he could certainly understand the appeal of gags as a concept).

These trains of thought, admittedly, were far beyond Hugh’s current capability of thought and sequestered to his absent musings of sex, as he felt the first hints of a climax ebb in contrast to Geordi’s impressive cocksucking.

“G-geordi,” Hugh panted, leaning further forward and drooping his head, “Geordi, I’m-- do you want it--”  
The Commander merely hummed in response, one hand sliding around to rub circles into the small of Hugh’s back as the other squeezed his ass in affirmation and toy absently with the tip of his plug. 

And not a minute later, the pressure was too great; Hugh’s crumpled with every spurt he felt down Geordi’s throat as the Commander took it ‘like a champ,’ he’d heard the human phrase go. If anything, Hugh was ecstatic at how evenly Geordi could take it, laughing breathily as sweat beaded on his forehead and he felt the Commander continuing to happily, contently swallow. His strong chest heaving, Hugh panted against the tightness of his bindings, feeling Geordi’s mouth begin to lessen in its ferocity as Hugh re-grappled his own clarity.

“Blindfold--” 

Geordi, letting Hugh’s cock fall gingerly from his mouth, gave an inquisitive hum during his own deep breaths.

“Hah… everyth-,” Geordi swallowed, “everything okay?” 

“The blindfold, would you-- remove it, please,” Hugh asked. With a smile, he added: “I’m fine, I-- I would just like to see you.”

And in response, Geordi’s hand moved to lovingly pap his hip, the Director hearing Geordi rise upwards with a groaning chuckle as he pulled the blindfold up to his forehead. Oh, Geordi was his own, beautiful sight; the Commander’s face was flushed and his ice-colored eyes were creased in delight, his lips were swollen and his well-kempt mustache and beard slick with sweat and minuscule remnants of his cum… The two shared a tired little laugh, Geordi entranced by _something_ the Director could only theorize as to what was, and Geordi’s thumb brushed absently at one of his facial augments.

“How’s your ‘theorizing’ going, dear,” Geordi asked cheekily.

“It will go _much_ better if you kiss me right now.”  
“Ohhh- wanna see how your own nanoprobes taste- I see how it is.” 

Hugh snorted. “Three million, eight hundred twenty thousand and five nanoprobes aren’t _all_ going to be found in my ejaculate, Commander.”

“At least you’ve got a good head count on them,” Geordi tsk’ed with a wink. And after a little pause and Geordi’s eyes darting all over Hugh, the Commander smiled affectionately and spoke again: “you look so beautiful right now, you know that.”

And Hugh’s heart ached, suddenly- ached for the lost, confused, and lonely drone he was 23 years ago; for Hugh dearly wished he could reach into the past and tell that newly-realized man it would be alright, that all that pain and suffering he would endure on Cube 5219 would be worth it, and that the very man who pulled him from loneliness’ desolate wasteland would be there two decades later telling him how beautiful he was. 

Hugh would probably, however, save the fact that he was tied up, getting his dick sucked, and was about to be fucked in the ass for his _present_ self to enjoy.

“Hugh?”

The Director rose from the pool of his own memories back to the present, shaking his head with a bashful, sweaty grin. “What a coincidence,” Hugh crooned, “I could call you ‘gorgeous’ too, and— _many_ other words, dear. Stop me before I begin to try and think of more words and we’re both here for hours.”

In his own flattered grin, Geordi’s cheeks flushed, his other hand rising to cusp the other man’s face as he leaned in for a kiss that lingered sweetly on his lips (and, indeed, tasting of his own “nanoprobes”). 

“You good to lean back and over for me?”  
“If you wait approximately three minutes, thirty nine seconds, I’ll be at my most optimal.” 

“Mm. In _that_ case,” Geordi parted with one last peck before he stood up with a grunt, “let me get back to _my_ most optimal, and get some more water and a towel; I _may_ have gotten--”

“‘A little excited,’ I’ll guess?” Hugh finished for him, laughing at seeing a few blotches on Geordi’s abs coming up from the direction of his groin. Geordi made a playful ‘shoosh’ing motion with a finger over his lips and a furrow of his brow, waving his other hand as he walked back to the bathroom.

While Hugh heard the running faucet, that bratty little spark flashed in him again, spurring the Director to purse his lips, calculate the probability of something Geordi might find amusing… and he began to turn over in his bindings to raise, show, and point his ass to the bathroom’s entrance, the plug directly facing the door as his knees propped him up for the Commander to see.

Hugh smirked at hearing the light click off. 

“Alright,” Geordi sighed, “let’s--”

He stopped.   
A silence hung in the bedroom as Geordi beheld the xB’s ass. 

And Hugh laughed as Geordi murmured a quiet “oh my fucking god,” listening to the Commander turn around, and…the faucet started running? Geordi hollered a “ _you’re ridiculous!_ ” from the bathroom, shut the sink off, and before Hugh could ask “what are you doing” as he heard the rustle of a fabric be twisted and tugged, a snap suddenly cracked through the air and collided with Hugh’s left asscheek, the Director spasming with an “AUGH!” at the sharp pain and recoil. His face mushed against the comforter to look back at Geordi who was all smiles and smirks, winking and giving a kiss as the Commander wound up a semi-damp towel. 

The-- _towel_? Did that?

“You show me your ass like _that-_ what else do you expect, dear.”

“You will have to teach me how to do that now, you realize.”  
Geordi scoffed playfully, revelling in his own realization with a clenched fist and a clap of his hands. “Something _else_ the Borg don’t know! Yes! That’s _two_ things I’ve got on them!” 

“I hope you’re proud, Commander,” Hugh teased. 

_Three things,_ Hugh thought quietly.   
_They don’t know how wonderful the human being Geordi La Forge is._

And Hugh would ensure with every last ounce of his strength that the Borg never, ever would.

* * *

With Hugh keeping the surprise of such events from his younger self, Geordi indeed fucked the Director in _wonderful_ capacity, the two by the end of it cozily nestled in Geordi’s plush Commander’s Quarters bed. Despite taking the time to regenerate an extra hour, fifty seven minutes more than usual last night after an early staff celebration, Hugh _knew_ the efforts from tonight were slow on his nanoprobes' regeneration capability, but he was happy to wallow in his shared exhaustion with Geordi. With their fill of foreplay before the predominant fuck, they treated themselves to the human designation “sixty nine” after Hugh’s plug was removed with care; that number, at least, was a near constant in human culture that the Borg _were_ aware of, to Geordi’s great amusement as well. After their mutual servicings, Geordi held him from behind on their sides- sweetly, carefully, but with firmness as Hugh took his partner in over and over, the sweet paradox of Geordi’s ropes holding back Hugh’s tugs all delightful and enthralling. By the time Hugh and Geordi were properly spent, he was panting again, desperate now to cusp Geordi’s face and look the other man, the other _individual_ in the eyes that gave him such an experience. And once Geordi quickly made waste of the robes with a specialized knife, Hugh did just that- with shared, deep kisses devolving into the xB melting at Geordi’s side in the sheets. He knew Geordi was tired, too; they were both older, past their cusp of youth for a human and whatever species Hugh was, the two deciding to save their energy for the shower they both knew they’d need to take. But for now, they revelled in their own post-coital, Hugh resting his cheek on Geordi’s shoulder and the Commander’s hand absently rubbing at Hugh’s head and through his hair. The Director knew he might have light bruises from the ropes and deep welts from Geordi’s kisses; but it hardly mattered know as his whole body ached and they mused at each other in frivolous pillow talk, the xB happy to listen to Geordi’s recounting and add even more onto his new learnings about this bondage-based hobby of Geordi’s.

“Well, I may not have _known_ Data in a great amount,” Hugh resumed, “but judging by your capabilities, he must have been a lovely participant in this.”

“Oh, Data? Pft- he was great,” Geordi crooned, “told me every single pressure point he felt and offered ‘schematics’ on how to improve new knots we tried, can you believe it. Thank God he was so patient with me, because oh- my early days of just picking this up?” Geordi chuckled, “I was, uh, _definitely_ not the best at it.”  
“Hardly any of us are the best at something when we first try it,” Hugh reminded with a smirk, “you should have been there when I first started _cooking._ At least he was willing to let you practice.”

“Yeah, exactly- I had holographic mannequins I’d tie up first, then _him_ to see how that’d work out on an _actually_ sapient humanoid; I was too self-conscious to try it on some sentient hologram program. He’d download the info on whatever new knot I wanted to try, and see how _my_ utilization would compare to the info he’d gotten.”

“Seems as if it was a medium that worked out quite well for _both_ of you, all things considering.”

“Mmmmhm,” Geordi responded, the xB chuckling as Geordi’s arm folded to mush a kiss into the side of Hugh’s head, “and _you_ make a very nice model.” 

“Thank you… I felt very-”  
Hugh pursed his lips, searching for words to describe the evening’s “events” (and also to keep Geordi waiting in bated breath). 

“‘Pretty?’” Geordi interrupted, “I’ll submit that for your consideration, because you _were_.” 

Oh- he was playing with him now, was he?

Hugh rolled tongue against his cheek, nodding with a cute little smirk. “I like it. But also… ‘captivating.’”  
“‘Picturesque.’”   
“‘Striking.’”

“Ohh, oh- that’s a good one,” the Commander chuckled. “All the others are great, but that one especially.” 

The ambient music they’d quietly left on in the background played a melodic trance in beat with their silence.

“I appreciate it, by the way,” Geordi mused absently as he watched the bedroom’s ceiling. When Hugh responded with a “Hmm?”, the Commander sighed, Hugh feeling Geordi readjust himself against the xB. 

“You. Listening to me talk about Data. Or, just-- _letting_ me talk about him, I guess.”

A currently-unnamable emotion welled in Hugh’s chest as he allowed a pause to hang.

“Do others not let you?”

Geordi made an unsure noise as he considered his thoughts. “I wouldn’t-- say they don’t _let_ me,” he offered, “and more they just… don’t know how to respond a lot of the time. They’re... ‘uncomfortable,’ I guess- because they know what he meant to me. And vice versa. _Thankfully,_ most of the _Enterprise_ crew don’t do that, because we all cared about him. Miss him in our own ways. But I still get those looks from them every now and then. Watching me. Wondering if they should keep talking, or ‘making sure I’m not gonna break down in front of them’ or something.”

Hugh mused on his thoughts while he delved into his language banks to find as right of words as possible.

“I find your grief fascinating,” he began, "and quite... worthy of expression. Not because I like to see you sad; very much the opposite, actually, but… it offers me some sort of kinship. I have had my own share of loss, and- while I don’t believe it will ever match what _you_ had with Data, it... assures me that you have a very deep, caring heart, Geordi. And that individuals _are_ capable of carrying those burdens, if they are willing to share it with others.”

> _"[...]While this aforementioned trauma may linger in the evidence of mental anguish, emotional weariness, and/or physical evidence, there is a awestriking community that has ruptured from the harsh, if not just-as-unsettling sculptures Junction Horus and I just visited that evening. If Vulcans are bound by logic, Hirogen are bound by the hunt, and Humans are bound by diversity and the need to explore, then xBs are bound by ‘individuality supporting community:’ the transmogrification of the inescapable and horrific, into the beautiful and nirvana-like kinship they celebrate in themselves and each other."_

Hugh _felt_ a sigh leave Geordi’s chest.

“In my readings,” the Commander resumed, “I’ve seen where it’s said that ‘xBs are linked by a great trauma.’”

Hugh motioned his head with an acknowledging raise of his brow. “That much is certain.”

“And how you come out of it is by the power of community,” Geordi continued, “it’s how you survive. Grow as individuals, and- _choose_ to help others like you become their best selves.” 

“Mm. I appreciate that descriptor.”

“So I… think I get it,” Geordi said. “It’s not the same. It won’t _ever_ be the same. You had to fight for something when you realized it’d been taken from you. When you lost it. And I, well…”

Geordi sighed again. 

“Sorry. Bad pillow talk.” 

“Don’t be,” Hugh assured him, turning his head up and over to give Geordi a kiss in turn. “It’s quite beautiful when you talk about him.”

“Yeah, but… during moments like _this_ ,” Geordi sighed, scooching down further into the sheets and leaning his head against Hugh’s, “I would _prefer_ to talk about the very nice man who’s here with me right now.” 

Hugh felt a smile crack across his face, nestling into the crook of Geordi’s shoulder and neck.

“The sentiment is mutual.” 

Geordi’s thumb rubbed absent circles against the side of Hugh’s head to keep them both from sliding into sleep’s grasp.

“You’ve got homework, by the way,” Geordi yawned, “after our shower and you go night night in that alcove of yours.”

“Oh? What is it.” 

“I’ll send you a mockup gallery of some knots that I know, once you’re back in your quarters. And _you_ ,” Geordi said in another kiss, “get to tell your boyfriend which ones you wanna try, so _he_ knows which ones to practice.”

Hugh’s grin spread even further at the term Geordi dropped, rubbing his face into the Commander’s shoulder like CMO Bartholomew’s cat did Hugh’s own hand. 

“I’m never going to get tired of that diminutive, you know.” 

Geordi merely hummed a pleased little note. 

“I hope you never do.”


	14. old souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always worthwhile to be a good host: for either photonics, former despots, or even the occasional Klingons and Captains.
> 
> Holograms are shared in both company and location, a couple of xBs go sightseeing, "diplomacy routines" are flexed, we take some walks down memory lane, and a Commander gets a couple of offerings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOP ON THE LORE TRAIN DOOT DOOT DOOOOOO || hope y'all are digging the plot it's been super fun to weave into this romance............ has anyone guessed the mystery yet 👀 || can you tell i lived in san francisco for like 6 years??? was gonna go visit there this year again. wack || why is the entire voyager cast so fun to write for || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 30, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
HOLODECK 1**

> ** _CH. 1, SECTION VI - ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION SOCIETAL STRUCTURE - RECLAIMED HOLIDAYS, SIGNIFICANT DATES, AND OHNIAKA III HISTORICAL EVENTS_ **
> 
> _The Reclaimed of Ohniaka III, while dedicated to the efficiency of “individuality through community,” are no strangers to personal hallmarks and communal holidays. xBs are a population built from many different species with many different occasions, this much is true; I have seen everything from Vulcan xBs convene in brutalist chambers invoking the name of Surak on the day of his birth, Klingon xBs temper themselves and the steel of their Bat’leths on the date of Kahless’s empirical conquest, and even the reflective celebrations of human xBs paying their respects to Zephram Cochrane on First Contact Day. But in the 23 years of Ohniaka III’s existence as the xB homeworld (a year consisting of ~378 Terran days), there have been more threads thrown into this societal loom, woven together to create unique holidays and observed occasions._
> 
> _Among more personal holidays include “Namesake,” an occasion almost all xBs celebrate for one simple, unifying purpose: reveling in their own chosen names in post-Hivemind clarity. Reclaimed value their chosen names very highly, and no matter how large, small, or frivolous the change may be from their Borg-assigned designation (or even re-assumption of their name pre-assimilation), it is still their name regardless, and that name that must be celebrated in equal jubilation to other sapient species’ “birthdays.” As an additional note: some xBs are able to access and/or recall their original birthdays, but since this is not as universal a privilege as Namesake dates are, they are celebrated with far less frequency (and personal triumph). Another holiday for xBs to observe is their own “Reclamation Day;” a personal date marking either the xB’s first or a certain/significant Reclamation Procedure the xB wants to benchmark for a personal, particular reason._
> 
> _There are some holidays, however, that some xBs do not observe for multiple reasons: be it either personal trauma, the dates of occasion genuinely unknown to the individual, or the unique circumstances that may surround the xB’s life. The aforementioned, sometimes-exclusionary treatment of “birthdays” bear a similar weight to another personal holiday like “Reprisal;” dates on which the xB was severed or pulled from the Collective. Teetering between traumatic or joyous, depending on the xBs’ circumstance of severance (and subsequent quality of life in the immediate timeframe after Collective), a Day of Reprisal is less celebrated and more “observed,” for xBs are not unfamiliar with their societal, melancholy-laced days of remembrance._
> 
> _One such day of memorialization is known as “Cubesfall,” marking the date of the Progenitor xBs’ crash landing on the barren Ohniaka III when Cube 5219’s submatrix collapsed (and subsequent death of Queen 49). It is a holiday less to do with “celebration” as more as it is “remembrance,” as Cube 5219’s fall to the planet’s surface was anything but gentle. Per-standard Borg cube, typically there are 5,000 drones per unit; out of the Cubesfall wreckage, only 1,563 survived, though Cube 5219 had suffered a great deal of loss even before this initial crash. While Cubesfall is observed out of historical respect and used as a time of reflection and communal grief for the pain de-assimilation can bear for non-Progenitors, the date is much more haunting, bitter, and laced with grief for the inception “generation” of xBs. While these Reclaimed celebrate the beauty that is their individuality every day, it did not come without the terrible, horrific cost of leaving the security of the Collective, and nowhere did I see this ache more plainly than when I observed the emotional fog that settled over the Capitol on this date._
> 
> _If you visit Ohniaka III, reader, I encourage you visit the memorial to Queen 49- a simple, pointed needle that rises 50 meters from the earth with a blossoming Ohniakan tree at its base, surrounded by massive pylons inscribed with the designations of every lost drone from Cube 5219 in xB script. The plaza stands a sentinel-like guard outside the ruins of Cube 5219; if you do visit this site, please do so respectfully, in silence, and in the awareness that the memory, the echo that the ill-fated Queen (and Cube 5219’s deceased drones) still exists with every still-living xB in some form. While xBs have nothing but disdain for the demiurges that bend the Collective to their will, Reclaimed undoubtedly mourn the Collective’s base-instinct’s victims, and Queen 49 was no exception in her self-immolation and violent rejection of self. [...]_

“What did you set my synthehol drink percentage to?”  
“4%.”  
“ _Only_ 4%?”   
“Any stronger and I’m gonna have you keeling over laughing at that image of me in my old Merry Men outfit again. Now come on; tell me how that smells before you try it.” 

Hugh stifled a smirk and sniffed at the bubbling flute in his hand, Geordi watching the xB tuck a lock of silver-dusted hair behind his ear that was kicked out of place by a breeze that flit through the outdoor patio.

“Mm. My olfactory processors estimate this to be similar to a fruit called a ‘pomegranate,’ but I would like to reference your confirmation first.”

“You got it. Personally, I like OJ in mine a little better, but I’ve noticed you prefer the earthier/fuller bodied drinks. Think you’ll like it?”

“There’s only one way to determine if I will,” the Director crooned, nodding his glance towards Geordi’s orange-tinted flute. 

So, picking it up, the Commander offered the Director a orange-and-purple toast with a satisfying little -clink!-, the men taking small sips as a pigeon fluttered down next to their table and began bopping around the sidewalk.

Tasted just like how a drink from this holodeck program should.  
And that was to say: Geordi La Forge knew how to program a very good, very _tasty_ San Francisco mimosa.

“So?” Geordi asked after a hum and a smack of his lips. “Whaddya think.” 

Hugh’s partially-metal brow furrowed some in thought and discerning the taste. 

Finally, a grin spread as he got used to the drink’s pungency. 

“Crisp. Refreshing. Sweet, with a harsh ‘bite.’ ...Dangerous.”

“‘Dangerous?’” Geordi repeated, “that’s a new one.”  
“Yes, dangerous- because I fear what would happen and _how_ I would act if I ingested too many of these.”  
  


Geordi laughed hard enough that the holographic pigeon under their table bounced in surprise, Hugh apparently catching the Commander’s humor and unable to resist a chuckle in response. It was the end of a Federation work week and both men were tired as all hell; with no chance to properly catch up with each other since their fun two nights ago, they chose to pick up socialization by giving Geordi’s old San Francisco Castro bistro holodeck program a whirl, set to a breezy October twilight. This week alone (coupled with the rest of their administrative burdens), Hugh had assisted with 50 various Reclamation Procedures, Geordi had combed through whatever Federation archives he had to possibly answer V’evik’s riddle, facilities were being prepared for EMH’s arrival escorted by Captain Torres from Starbase 158… and most looming of all, Hugh had Consultation #6 tomorrow with Queen 127.

Before, it had been set (or expected) to be on November 1st. 

But on her 5th Consultation, she decided their meetings would be _six_ days apart, and now for her 6th meeting, she requested it be _five_ days apart. 

And despite their well-earned suspicion, at least Geordi and Hugh didn’t have her Consultation on the _same_ day that two Klingon ambassadors were _also_ arriving in a Starfleet vessel with the Atlas Project’s newest medical addition.

Maybe she was just getting antsy for her extremely specific, “make it exactly like the schematics I have given you” body to be done already.

Or maybe she was simply wanting to be a decent person. Have a decent conversation, for once. 

Maybe she just wanted to actually talk.

No more work, Geordi, he thought bitterly- not now. Enjoy the very good-looking xB sitting across from you in a black turtleneck with rolled-up sleeves, tight grey pants, boots, studs, and oh, he had to stop that train of thought immediately, because there was still _plenty_ more to drink.

“Okay, Mr. Dangerous,” Geordi teased, “go on; you still owe me your first hookup story.” 

“Fine, fine,” he allotted, “I suppose I do. 2369: it was 6 months, 23 days after Lore was deactivated, and 10 months, 13 days total since Cubesfall. There had been… murmurs, spreading throughout Cube 5219’s survivors,” Hugh told, “discussions of our own _physical_ analyses that we had begun noticing. It was decided very early on that it was better to discuss these sexual processings freely and openly; for we referenced previous civilizations’ adoptions of conservatism towards sex and its limiting of discussion and information, and found the philosophies rather…”

“‘Contradictory?’” Geordi offered.  
Hugh smirked. “‘Repulsive.’”  
“‘Boring?’”

“Good one,” Hugh chuckled, “But most of all, ‘inefficient,’” the xB settled on, Geordi agreeing with a roll of the eyes with regards to _human_ history. “To this day, we try to keep that communal openness. We have libraries of species’ information about sex stored in our minds; we were not ignorant to these noticed phenomenons, but we were painfully so in trying to _act_ upon those desires, our implants’ cumbersome natures notwithstanding. Therefore, honesty and discussion can be a great illuminator for not only the community’s sake, but also the individual with regards to sexual manifestations.” 

The Director took another sip and continued. “Mmm. But anyway, anyway, back to that very nice year; 25.7% of my superficial exoplating had been shed, and it was a particularly warm summer on Ohniaka III’s coastlines. I still had half of my head plating,” Hugh traced his old, hair-covered scars with his free thumb to indicate where, “abdominal, extremity, pelvic augments- but I was turning _much_ less pale, Troval’s makeshift medical ward had managed to resurface _both_ my hands, even if my right hand was still awkward, and I even had my first even fuzz of hair coming in where my augments _weren’t._ I was nowhere near as Reclaimed or as... ‘good-looking’ as I am now; but even ten months after Cubesfall, I was ‘getting there.’”

“Bet you were still cute.”  
Geordi inwardly beamed at the flat, sarcastic look Hugh shot him. “I will access some archived images and let _you_ determine the validity of that claim.”  
“Gladly.”

Hugh smirked as he continued. “Crosis and I were on a small expedition from 5219’s ruins to search for a place where the Progenitors could establish a solar power field for plans we had to try and power the beginnings of the Capitol- it was a two day hike to survey the land properly before any construction could begin. We had scans of the topography, true, but we wanted to do it ourselves for the most accurate analysis. Explore more of the planet we were settling on. We set up our campsite, had two temporary biochip energy restock ports since we couldn’t bring regeneration alcoves… and I remember, very clearly- sitting on the slight cliffside of the beach where the crimson shorelines cave in, and seeing my friend rise up out of the water, against the sunset after he had to rinse himself of the day’s travel-given sweats. And _you_ know, you’ve seen them yourself; the sands of Ohniaka III’s coastlines are just as red and iridescent as Vulcan’s, and when the coastline hits the sunset... I have too many words for it. So here was Crosis: someone I trusted, a drone I knew and got to know as ‘Crosis’ over time, took comfort in his presence, and suddenly that… comfort, that assurance, all melded together and morphed into attraction, and even now I remember my heightened pulse and dilated organic eye…” 

  
Geordi could hardly restrain himself from recreating the image; a wide-eyed, younger, incredibly-patchwork Hugh ogling that hulking xB’s physique, a piercing gaze in the form of his holographic imager- the sun shimmering off both their augments and complimenting Crosis’ ocean-soaked hair and muscles...

“Ooo, I can see it now, Director,” Geordi crooned, squinting his eyes off towards the horizon. “That must’ve been a hell of a view if I’ve ever imagined one.”

“Oh, Geordi, suddenly it all made sense,” The xB laughed. “I knew _exactly_ what the symptoms were by my own analysis, but oh, I was so unsure how to even _approach_ them once labeled, I was so flushed- even my voice faltered! Crosis addressed it when he came back to shore; listed off all my symptoms, current state; ‘you are exhibiting high temperature fluctuations and increased blood flow,’ all that- and I couldn’t even respond, I simply- sat there-”

“Certainly one of the more _frank_ come-ons I’ve heard,” Geordi humored. 

“Exactly. It took me another 3.5 hours before I confessed it to him over the small fire we had built to light our campsite, since it was rather cold that evening despite the daytime heat... I was a nervous wreck, sweating, still flushed and unsure of what to do because Crosis had been so deathly quiet too, even as we built the fire. So Crosis, noticing my external temperature was still low despite the fire, came and sat beside me. Very close. He hugged me with one arm, and before he could finish his query, I told him I felt ‘very warm on the inside.’ That I wanted him closer. He eventually admitted the same, and...”  
Hugh stopped, lost in his own memories as he grinned and a hand cusped his own blushing cheek.

“And?” 

A smirk spread across his face.

“Let us say that I have a particular liking for sex on the beach now.”

And Geordi couldn’t help it when a cackle of a laugh burst out of his chest at Hugh’s delivery and swig of his mimosa flute, the xB’s smirk having blossomed into a fully-formed, shit-eating grin. 

“Ohhh, the _act_ or the _drink_ or _both,_ Director!” Geordi laughed still, “you’re gonna have to be more specific!” 

Hugh’s head whipped towards him. “A ‘drink,’ you mean-- an alcoholic beverage, right? As in a _cocktail?”_  
“Yes! Have you not tried it yet?”  
“I didn’t know it _was_ a drink until just now!”

Geordi slung back the last of his own mimosa flute and set the glass down, clapping his hands together once as Hugh chuckled at the Commander’s obvious excitement. “Well how about that, Director,” Geordi chimed, “you happen to be in the _very_ best simulated place for one, in my experience. And I _just_ so happened to program a very delectable recipe into this bar, so the opportunity is all yours.”

“And for personal recommendation’s sake, so shall I take it,” Hugh crooned, Geordi looking back over his shoulder to the bartender and motioning with two fingers up and a nod.

Geordi turned back after making his order. “I’m gonna keep that little ‘soft spot’ of yours on file for later, by the way.”  
“I hope you do. At least we can ‘make good’ on this drink of yours here and now.”

“I’m just shocked, dear; you’ve been to San Francisco _how many times_ now for diplomacy and you’ve _never_ had it,” Geordi chimed. “It’s an Academy rookie’s favorite, fruity-bullshit drink; practically every bar there has some play-on-words version of it on their own menu! not to mention any Admiral you come across is gonna have it burned into their memory in one way or another...”

“Of course I’ve _been_ ,” Hugh countered with a little laugh, “and I _did_ have a rather delicious local cider there when signing some resource trading. But you know yourself: new places are best understood with context. I have _been_ to San Francisco, but I have not exactly _visited_ it. As much as I had _known_ of it long before I was a representative for the Reclamation Project, that knowledge was at the cost of human assimilation. Beyond the scenery- what I see when I fly over in a shuttle craft, jaunts from administrative buildings to Commodores’ offices... I do not _know_ San Francisco for its character beyond the historical dates, facts, or the solar-powered Golden Gate bridge we stole in information from humanity. But you,” the Director hummed, swirling his mimosa in the flute, “you _lived_ there. You let that city become a part of you, just as much as you left your own imprint upon it and its people. The extra… individuality, the emotion, even the _pigeons-_ the tactile feel and the experience of it beyond just information. How fitting is it, then- that you show me a place that has such... character and agency. A place with just as much character as yourself.” 

Geordi grinned bashfully as two more birds fluttered down, one trotting after another with a puffed up and cooing chest.

“The pigeons are necessary.”

“And charming. I always enjoy sharing their company while waiting for administrative meetings in the Commodore’s Plaza.”  
“How about Crosis; he as big a fan of them too?”  
“One time he replicated _birdseed_ to bring with him in our shuttle before we left for a trade delegation.” 

Hugh paused, then, drawing his glance from the pavement back up to Geordi. “Do you understand, dear?” he asked wistfully. “Do you see the paradox of our existence? This, Geordi- is why we… or at least, I-- continue to find life so captivating. Context, information now complemented by our unique, different experiences... it is the differentiation, yet our common trait we all share. A great, vast infinity of information that we all once were, _as_ one-... and yet when given individual experience, we become more. We were once _one,_ and now we are _more._ Forgive me, I’m- rambling admittedly, but...”

Geordi was happy to mull on those words, his expression creasing under a gentle grin as the Commander watched Hugh. The xB’s eyes seemed to be lost in his own thoughts; sifting, no doubt, through the endless words that the innate resources of knowledge the Borg foisted upon him. But in that gaze, Geordi could tell he was also weaving together memories _with_ those words; that the emotions this moment stirred, even as a holodeck program, would be forever associated with whatever words Hugh settled on. 

Geordi felt like he could have the confidence to say that the words Hugh was in the process of choosing were some form of “good.”

The bartender dropped off their drinks and took the empty glasses without a word.

“Feel like I could spend the rest of my life trying to understand that, Director,” Geordi told him in earnest. “For what am I, if not an _explorer_ as well as an engineer. ...And from what you’ve told me? Even from what I learned from Data and _his_ own journey? God,” he sighed, “what an exploration you must get to go on every day of your life.”

Hugh’s smile widened some at Geordi. “You certainly learn something new every day.” 

The Commander reached for his glass, examining the peach-colored drink with a musing gaze.

“I could show you it all,” he offered, “after we’re done here; once Atlas’ hull is safe and sound over Ohniaka III and all those drones are accounted for. We go to San Francisco together for diplomacy’s sake, get all the paperwork done, give whatever interviews they want, and I... show you around, Hugh. Show you what made me fall in love with that city and Starfleet being there.”

Hugh smiled sweetly at the offer, eyeing both the Commander and his own drink that waited to be picked up. 

“I’d like that, Geordi,” he said, “I conclude that I would. I am… admittedly, _nervous_ somewhat about non-Starfleet humans’ reactions to my _presence_ in such a civilian setting, but--”

 _To an_ xB _, Geordi could tell Hugh meant to say._

“As long as you’re comfortable going there in the first place, I’ll be right there with you,” Geordi told him, “That’s your decision whether or not to go, and I’m not about to pressure you, but- I’d _absolutely_ drill whatever amount of sense I had into someone for any kind of disrespect they would show you. _If_ they would; I’d like to hope for the best. Alongside many _other_ things I could say… a shame they might miss out on a remarkable person like you.”

“I don’t expect you to be a hero for me.”  
“Oh, who said anything about discounting you standing up for yourself?” Geordi crooned. “The more involved in correcting very _wrong_ opinions, the merrier.”

Hugh’s sheepish smile showed itself again as Geordi sipped at his glass. 

“You know,” the Commander teased, “I actually have an extension I added into this program of the ferry building pier; a place right between the Bay Bridge and Golden Gate. It’s got a _beautiful_ view, too- it can be set for whatever time of day, if you’d wanna come back to this program again…” 

Geordi watched the xB purse his lips in thought; and though the Commander had watched it dozens of times before (perhaps the synthehol coursing through his system was adding to his adoration), Geordi marveled and reveled in the fact Hugh _could_ think for himself.

“I think… I will wait,” Hugh decided on. 

With a growing little grin, the xB added: “...to visit the _real_ place with you.”

Geordi’s sip was interrupted by his lips curling upwards against the glass. 

The combination of impromptu flattery, insinuation, and the sweet and sour note from the Sex On the Beach made his mouth pucker and heart flutter all the same, Geordi subtly raising his glass to the Director. 

“I look forward to it, dear.”

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - OCTOBER 31, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
CYBERNETICS RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT LAB #1  
**

> ** _CH. 1, SECTION VI (cont.)_ **
> 
> _[...]Despite Cubesfall’s grievous nature of remembrance, it is my delight to report that the Reclaimed do not limit their days of significance purely to wistful, ache-tinged nostalgia. One such celebration is the three-day period of “Reconstitution;” the period marked as the first time, after 10 Ohniakan III years, the Progenitors reached out to the cosmos after their tempering within individuality, and “reconstituted” themselves both inside and out._
> 
> _Note: Reconstitution, I believe, requires historical context, and while I will cite historical sources at the end of this section for further reference, I shall briefly recount its history for you here to understand Reconstitution’s significance._
> 
> _Prior to this event, the years of 2368-2378 marked a time of self-incubation and isolation for the Progenitor xBs; to lay the groundwork for their society, research their own selves on this new homeworld, and temper their interactions with each other before daring to turn their eyes to the stars again. They had been manipulated by external forces and individuals before, and did not want to fall sway so easily to another outside, tyrannical influence again. But this 2378 opening of galactic communication did not come from a purely explorative drive, as much as it was also an emergency hail; the Progenitors, having exhausted Cube 5219’s resources and Borg-specific power reserves, experienced a crises in the form of mass cortical node expiration and energy depletion, threatening the entire population that their medical junctions had no cure for and required outside resources and intervention._
> 
> _Despite initial hesitancy, an emergency hail was finally broadcast to the Federation; a decision based upon their history and general benevolence with the Enterprise-D. While Starfleet scrambled to try and offer an answer of what could be done (and volunteers could be scrounged for such an intimidating, strange mission as an emergency request to aid dying former Borg), the_ USS Voyager _had returned from the Delta Quadrant just over a month prior, and its photonic lifeform Emergency Medical Hologram Mk. I (also colloquially known as simply "The Doctor") had been searching for further service and purpose. Leaping at the opportunity thanks to his familiarity with Borg-related procedures, this EMH (with the assistance of Seven of Nine) assembled a medical team of xB sympathizers, various EMH editions, and chartered a hospital starship to Ohniaka III, where he and a crew of 328 performed varying levels of 1,227 Reclamation Procedures in 78 hours in collaboration with Progenitor medical advisors. Note: this numerical reduction from the original 1,563 survivors of Cubesfall were fatalities from either Lore's intervention, suicide, or pre-Reconstitution cortical node failure. By the xBs' and Federation’s combined efforts, resupply, and ingenious research, they solved the plight of the cortical node expiration, creating ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ so that xBs no longer had to live in fear of this technological, Collective-inflicted fear._
> 
> _Reconstitution resulted in the “shot in the arm” Ohniakan life desperately needed, as I’ve been told by xB historians, and from there life on the xB “homeworld” only flourished further. Today, Reconstitution is celebrated in the form of increased xB Reclamation Procedure signups, revelry, “partying (as much as a society of former drones can party- which is to say very much so, surprisingly enough),” and overall peace and celebration. The following year cemented Reconstitution’s celebratory nature, as it also marked the signing of the “Ohniakan Accords of 2379” in San Francisco's Starfleet Headquarters. This not only recognized Ohniaka III as the xB homeworld in the eyes of Federation maps, but also the “Liberated Borg Cooperation” as an individual (allied) entity, and the “Reclamation Project” as its humanitarian, space-faring extension (as Starfleet is to the United Federation of Planets). A risky move for the time, considering the tumultuous political strain the Romulan Star Empire was experiencing and their renowned hostility towards Borg/synthetic life, but in a 2390s retrospect, hindsight certainly proves favorable._
> 
> _All of this to say, reader: do not mistake those who forsook one way of life as forsaking what customs, traditions, or celebrations this life of theirs could bring. Just as habits are formed by our own tendencies or instincts are formed by sentient lifeforms, so too are holidays, occasions, or other observed times a society might be unified through. In my initial arrival talks with Junction Horus and Executive Director Hugh (both Progenitors), I was imparted with a rather poignant quote: “We came from a Collective that had no coronation ceremonies for our supposed ‘queens’ or any other royalty. Yet here we are, today, out of the mire and the emptiness of nothingness, as self-made Lords over the most valuable things we could ever lay claim to.”_
> 
> _Although I look back and apologize for my almost painfully-obvious ignorance, I asked what it was they had “laid claim to.”_
> 
> _Hugh simply smiled before sipping his tea, and replied with “our lives, Mr. O’Reilly.”_

“That one, there: the Vulcan. What is their designation, they were assimilated after w--”

“V’evik. They are actually this operation’s primary Cybernetics Junction; V’evik has been working very diligently to recreate this body from your provided schematics.”

“Ah. ...Tell ‘V’evik’ that the coupling on the left shoulder conjoinment clamp must be moved two millimeters further inward to ensure efficient synchronization.”

“Of course. ...Wait, you-- I recall from your previous notes, we- moved it _outward_ by the same amount.”

“Well, move it _inward_ again; its current place appears to be inefficient. Will you defy the functionality of the schematics this department has been given?”

Hugh sighed, pulling up a notes application on his PADD. “No. I will discuss this change with the Junction once our conversation is comple--”

“No!, go tell them now _;_ for you must _also_ tell them to make sure the ligament cables in the right forearm have enough coating. It appears to be _stiff,_ even from here.”

Hugh felt his face grow pained. “How are you able to even _tell_ that from here, the exo-plating is already over th--”

“ _And_ tell them to perform the same analysis for the _other_ arm as well. If the _right_ forearm does not have enough ligament cable coating, what is preventing the _left_ forearm from having a similar flaw?”

“The--”

“Actually? Run a diagnostic regarding the efficiency of _all_ mobility-related musculature ligaments; this ‘team’ and Junction V’evik wouldn’t want poor, stiff craftsmanship reflected on them when I would take my first steps, would they?” 

> _[Of course it looks ‘stiff;’ it is an empty vessel for your usage and has yet to be ‘tested’ you arrogant, frustrating head of a--]_

Hugh finished typing the notes on his PADD with a tight-lipped, eye-rolling, rather-firm-and-audible tap on the confirmation screen.

“Is there anything _else_ you are able to observe?”

“Mmmmmmmm…”  
She paused; and finally, smirked.  
“...No.”

The Director nodded. “Well- thank you for your input, then. I will return shortly.” 

“And thank _you_ for your _‘Cooperation.’”_

With a barely-restrained huff as he marched from the one-way observation glass and down the hall for the lab, Hugh begged his thoughts to think of _good_ things to refortify his patience. 

> _[Morning tea with Crosis, reviewing daily itinerary- morning debriefs with all Troval, Five, V’evik]  
> _ _[CMO Bartholomew’s cat, Mimi, her little purrs and meows]  
> _ _[The white noise ambiance of Atlas’ hull, the Language of Information comfortingly creeping through the decks]  
> _ _[Ohniakan III sunrises in spring]  
> _ _[Geordi]  
> _ _[Geordi sweetly, deeply, kissing his neck, the smell of peach still on his breath, Hugh’s legs folding around the Commander as his back sank into the sheets--]_

Hugh put a hand to his heated cheek as the lab’s decon chamber scanned him before entry.

 _Too_ good of thoughts, Director.

Today was Reclamation Consultation #6 with Queen 127, and all circumstances given, it could have been going… worse, Hugh supposed- especially after meeting #2’s bombastic confrontation. She was not the average drone, as Captain Crusher had so eloquently put it; she did not earn nor warrant the same sympathies that a blank slate drone should be given; but 127 was still a victim of the Collective’s instincts in her own, radical way. How strange it was- to be conversing with a victim who _knew_ what individuality was, but had so vehemently looked down on it by her own brainwashed circumstances… and was now, finally, beginning to perhaps understand it? To _experience_ individuality, without either the whispers of the Hivemind’s compulsory instinct or the defiant screams of other Queens telling her to retreat? 

As was with _any_ Reclamation, it was not happening overnight. This would be a process: something Hugh knew well, _long_ before departing Ohniaka III. She still threw out crass language here and there, responded in defensive regard when Hugh would occasionally offer olive branches… but she was also learning. She no longer _tried_ to actively deadname staff while he was away. She asked said staff how their days were. She even inquired of Hugh about various things regarding _himself;_ it was how she learned of the ‘Cooperation’ pun in the first place.

And by the end of Consultation #3, she had asked to be placed in a body again.

But _not_ the one the department had already built for her; oh no, that would’ve been _far_ too easy. Instead, she insisted they reconstitute an entirely new, perfectly-replicated, Borg Queen body apparatus, recreated by schematics she uplinked that was so heavy with detail it nearly made Hugh’s PADD overload. With an agreement laid in, she went to “sleep” again in her regeneration chamber, and Hugh was able to put in the worst call imaginable to the poor Cybernetics division.

By Consultation #4, Hugh decided to gently inquire about the three-part mystery V’evik's interface with Atlas set in motion. 

> _“Why ask about information that is no longer there?” was all she replied, at first. “It was research we deleted before its deployment in the Species 8427 War. That is what I know. It once existed, and now it is gone.”_
> 
> _“If I was to judge based off your reaction, there must be_ something _you know that I do not.”_
> 
> _She merely smiled. “Nothing I think you would particularly care to know.”  
> _

She could look at him in the most unnerving of ways sometimes, he thought. Like she knew him for a thousand and more lifetimes that Hugh had no idea even _existed._

But he was here. Here, now, in this lifetime, the lifetime he reclaimed- the one where he was Hugh. A Hugh formed out of defiance, community, care… and to some degree, he wanted to believe, love.  
And that was all he needed.

By Consultation #5, she expressed interest in wanting to see her in-progress body.

So Hugh, considering she had been at least “reasonable” this meeting, thought to show her himself.   
It would be the first time she would have left the Containment Chamber in two months, after all. 

> _Calling V’evik’s staff out of the lab, the Director and the Queen’s head were beamed out of Solstice’s depths to view and examine the Borg apparatus in progress, the Queen craning and motioning her head all over the body and dubbing it “sufficient so far.” When she turned to Hugh as if expecting him to request a beam back to the Containment Chamber, inspiration struck the director as he remembered how the sun beamed in through a hallway’s light that day._
> 
> _“Would you like to see this station’s view from where we are? There is an observation deck down the hall from here.”_
> 
> _“For what purpose?”  
>  “No purpose,” Hugh mused. “Just to see it.” _
> 
> _She shrugged as much as a head and shoulders on a “perch”_ could _shrug, resigning to the fact she wasn’t exactly going anywhere else in her current condition._
> 
> _But despite her snide expressions beforehand, Hugh would not easily forget the sight of a Queen made speechless by the starlit, gold-tinged view of her former home, Atlas' hull hanging between_ Theta _and_ Iota's _ever-protective vigil_.
> 
> _“What do you think?”_
> 
> _Her eyes did not leave the view as her lips absently searched for words._
> 
> _“Extraordinary.”_
> 
> _The word choice stuck out to the Director.  
>  Odd to consider that maybe _ he _had rubbed off on her too, somewhat._

Today, a part of their Consultation took place in a viewing chamber of the Cybernetics Research and Development lab, where her body was still under construction by a mostly xB technician crew. Junction V’evik was leading development as usual; though not-as-usual was the piece of tissue stuffed in one nostril, preventing the recent phenomenon of random nosebleeds that had begun since their accidental interface three weeks ago. From where 127 was, she would be able to see V’evik, the Junction with a patience tempered by Vulcan steel, put their prosthetic hand to their face and sigh, dragging it down their long features as the to-do list was foisted upon them.

Hugh apologized through a sympathetic glance. “I will be happy to assist you and the team once she deems our time ‘over,’ if you want.”

“I may accept that offer, Director; thank you. I shall inform you of our progress, if you would inform me when your Consultation is complete.”

“Of course.”

Hugh eyed the small piece of green-tinged tissue wedged into the Vulcan’s nose.

“I’m not-- it’s not darkening further, is it Director--” 

“Not at all, V’evik,” Hugh assured with a grin. “I simply hope this extra stress does not end up causing such.”

“Since my discharge from Junction Troval’s care 23 days ago, that would not be the most unexpected phenomenon, Sir.” 

The Junction considered their further words for a moment. And in a quieter voice, they spoke: “Have you been able to inquire further about--”

Hugh shook his head with a defeated sigh. “I tried during our fourth Consultation, I tried with the fifth; she remains ‘cagey,’ as I have heard an applicable vernacular, so I am pausing discussions relating to the topic for today. Perhaps, once her body is complete,” he postulated, “we could make some progress related to this mystery. But all in due time; we cannot tax her purely for information. And please,” Hugh asked, “as much as you’re able to… do not overtax yourself _either_ , V’evik.”

The Vulcan nodded, shoving the tissue more securely upwards. 

“I will attempt to avoid such destructive behavior as much as I’m able to... and as much as I’m able to prevent the information _itself_ from taxing me.”

Hugh reinforced his grin with all the care he could muster in his heart.

“I’ll contact you as soon as we’re done and transported back to see if you require assistance.”

“Thank you, Director.” 

And Hugh turned to trot back to the Queen’s side, wiggling the PADD at her with a somewhat vexed raising of his brows. 

“All notes were logged and shall be addressed in a timely manner,” Hugh told her, straightening his posture as the PADD returned to his side. “Barring any schedule conflicts, we should be able to complete the apparatus five days from now.”

“Long. If you were all still assimilated and connected, this would take _half_ that time.”

“It does not _help_ that we are building one of the Borg’s most intricate pieces of cybernetics technology without the direct guidance of the Hive,” Hugh grumbled, “and we are not exactly _one_ anymore to ensure such strained devotion to a singular task. Still… the Cybernetics division is resourceful, and your donated nanoprobes are helping immensely towards its construction.”

"'You’re welcome.'”

Hugh raised an eyebrow in a very V’evik-like manner. “Last week I recall you telling me you ‘had no need’ for such platitudes such as ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”

“I am finding, ‘Director,’” 127 replied, “that the utilization of language is ‘adaptable,’ based on circumstances. ...In its own way.”

Hugh allowed himself a small grin since her eyes remained fixed on the glass.

“Well then,” Hugh spoke gently, “thank _you_ for your previous donation.” 

Her mouth squirmed a little. 

They lingered in silence for a while, Hugh inwardly relieved knowing that the window to the viewing chamber was set to a one-way observance.

“Tell me something,” she asked. “Did you find _yourself_ at optimal efficiency after your own procedure? After you felt your body was... 'returned' to you?”

Hugh contemplated her words.

“I... began to, after my first,” Hugh admitted, “though my hallmark Procedure during Reconstitution was certainly one of the most poignant. While there were ‘milestones’ that improved my quality of life in more immediate regards than others, I find ‘optimal efficiency' is a goal that I am constantly reaching towards.”

“You had more than one Procedure?” 

This made the Director pause, his brow knotting together as he looked towards her. “Y… yes,” he said, “it is-- rarely a one-time event for us with regards to medical care. I-- forgive me, are you not- _aware_ of how we--?”

“You are within us,” 127 told him, “and then you are _not_ us. You are _outside_ of us. Any knowledge outside of us is not known; you of all _… ‘people’_ should know this. All I have seen of the Cooperation is-- well. Knowing who, _what_ they were, and. How you are _now_.” 

“Ah, well- that… changes some things,” Hugh admitted, reeling from this revelation (and quite embarrassed at his own assumptions- of _course_ she wouldn’t know, why would she?). “It, this-” the Director motioned at his body with a hand, “who I am now was _not_ overnight. _Some_ aspects of my physical conditions yes, but… this is an eternal process, 127.”

“Inefficient. Your original augments were perfectly functional; dedicating yourself to constant renovation proves lack of functionality.”

“The longer I lived as myself, the more they were _not_ ‘perfectly functional,’ actually,” Hugh corrected. “It is both… horrifying and _impressive_ at how a body you are not comfortable in begins to reject itself despite what ‘should be healthy,’ despite my disdain for such wording. Augments fell from me naturally, _and_ I requested procedures to both prevent medical emergencies _and_ unearth myself as I wanted to be,” he explained. “I have looked a great many ways during my life.” 

“Inefficient. You are given a body that is adequate; and so should it _remain_ adequate.”

Hugh paused again after dodging that attempted strike at a nerve, the Directive trying to think of how best to reply as he rolled his tongue against his cheek.   
And it came to him in a sudden, confidence-bolstering flash. 

“Tell me,” Hugh asked, “does the _Collective_ constantly seek perfection in its own self-given improvements and additions?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you demean our personal, beneficial translation of that which the Collective does?”

From the look on her calm, surprisingly-stoic expression, Hugh could only fathom whatever it was she was considering.

“Your waxing poetics of… paradoxical similarities are appreciated,” the Queen told him, “but irrelevant.”

“ _Are_ they, though?”

She pursed her lips. 

“Your circumstances were different than mine currently are. I do not expect nor want your pity in this regard.”

“Not pity,” Hugh offered her. “ _Empathy_. And yes, you’re right; our causes for separation _were_ different. But we do share a commonality.”

“Do tell me whatever that could be.”

“We were once each other,” Hugh said simply, “and now we are _not_ . Despite it, I stand before you today, just as _you_ stand before _me_ as your own.”

The Queen, her disembodied head propped on a support apparatus, pulled her glance from the glass and her in-progress body to look at Hugh.   
127 motioned her lips mouth if she was about to say something. A word that started with a ‘w.’

But Hugh watched the former Queen stop herself, and begin to start over. 

“...I would not exactly call my current condition ‘standing.’” 

And though she did not return the gesture, Hugh found himself grinning at the attempted… “jab?” “Humor?” “Prod?” Whatever it was. 

Whatever it was, it was endearing.   
And she did it all by herself.  
As if noticing Hugh’s amusement, she turned her gaze back towards her body, watching with a keen audience.

“I will return to a body. And I will experience… this ‘state’ of mine as I was meant to.” 

Hugh rolled his eyes. 

“All will be the same,” 127 stated. 

This, particularly, caught the Director’s attention.   
Stealing another quick glance, her expression had turned from its usual, hawk-like attentiveness to a subtle, faint, tinged… what was it? “Desperation?” “Hope?” “Pleading?”   
_Need_ , he settled on.

As if she _needed_ her own self-assurance to be true in that last statement.

“Is that what you want?” Hugh asked.

“It must be.”

Queen 127 swallowed.

“The implications of the alternative are far less desired.” 

And the hand of empathy that held Hugh’s sympathy for the lonely despot made itself known again, gripping his heart in an ever-tighter grasp.

“Before you're ready to go,” Hugh said, “would you… like to visit the observation deck again? Or, even- see the view I have from my quarters. I find it is equally striking during this time of the day cycle.” 

Thankfully, the small gesture proved to have all the Herculean strength he (and possibly 127) so desperately needed.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Yes, I believe I would.”

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 1, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION COMMANDER READY ROOM**

The day had finally arrived for the _USS Louise Michel_ to arrive at the _Solstice_ station, the chronometer striking 1642 as Hugh watched for the starship against the dark, star-speckled canvas of space outside. Captain B’Elanna Torres, having made the journey from the far-off Delta Quadrant border outpost of Starbase 158, was not only bringing the Doctor and his holo-emitter, but _also_ making a routine Starfleet check-in and partial diplomacy mission in the form of two tag-along Klingon representatives. A Reclaimed Klingon xB from Atlas’ surplus of drones had been discovered near the beginning of the project; as her memories resurfaced, it was revealed she was an heiress to a high-standing House of Koloth council spot before her assimilation, and expressed interest in wanting to return to Qo'noS to reclaim her seat. The two were coming with the Starfleet escort to not only ensure pleasant Cooperation relations, but also see the project for themselves (and to make the 24-day journey worthwhile for the practical Captain Torres). 

The two had been waiting together in Geordi’s Ready Room; the Commander in his striped formal uniform with diamond studs to match, and Hugh wearing a similarly geometric blazer to the one he’d worn upon the Reclamation Project’s _Solstice_ arrival. A few key differences highlighted this outfit, however: his gloves were gone and he wore a sleeveless turtleneck underneath, though Geordi nor the average observer wouldn’t know this unless the blazer was unzipped from its typical high collar. It all made sense for welcoming Klingon house representatives, of course, but the Director just thought it would be a nice “surprise” to reveal to the Commander later on.

Hopefully all of his and Crosis’ “practice” yesterday evening in the Rec Room would pay off. 

While Hugh was nervous to see the Doctor again (and meet both the Klingons and Captain Torres), it was not the same, apprehensive jitter that had plagued him in the final hours before Beverly’s arrival. He felt a strange, yet understandable kinship with the EMH; he knew their home well, and had visited a handful of times since his initial encounters that were wrought by his medical oversight.

Beverly was a ghost from the past, thankfully made tangible again by her recent visit (and he looked forward to seeing her again in his current level of clarity). The Doctor? He was outside of the typical humanoid sapient. He was a friend to former Borg; to xBs, those fresh from the Delta Quadrant, and the citizens of Ohniaka III. He understood them, to a certain degree; for he too was a lifeform who, by his own recountings, had realized his own individuality and personhood despite all odds and obstacles and his own inherent nature.

And even as a Starfleet ship dropped out of warp and Hugh murmured out an amazed “There it is, there-” to Geordi, the Director found himself still lost in his thoughts- memories all too sweet to leave just yet.

He remembered first waking up.

> _Hugh’s head shifted. A tickling, tugging, wisping sensation pulled at his tender scalp._
> 
> _More hair?_ Longer _hair?_
> 
> _He pulled his attention back to the voice. The familiar voice._
> 
> _“Doctor?” Hugh asked quietly._
> 
> _“Hm. Deep sleeper you are, Mr. Hugh.”_
> 
> _His eyes started to flutter ope--_
> 
> _He had another eye again._
> 
> _After seven years, he could see from his left eye, after his imager’s connection port had degraded so poorly from the elements and Troval could not heal him.  
> _ _He blinked.  
> _ _A foreign, strange,_ new _sensation to do with a second eye._
> 
> _And he looked up to the holographic doctor who made it all possible and repeated his question._
> 
> _“I cannot tell if you heard me the first time, so I shall repeat myself; would you like to see yourself, Mr. Hugh?”_
> 
> _The former Borg, suddenly, felt quite small as he lay prone in the converted regeneration alcove-made-biobed._
> 
> _To_ see _himself ? Now? After all the changes and modifications that had been made, now that a failing cortical node might not rob him to live as he wanted to?_
> 
> _Hugh’s heart rate increased by 3.2%._
> 
> _“I, ah… I-”_
> 
> _Excitement, overwhelmed immensity, panic, finality, curiosity--_ _  
> __A lump formed in his throat as he tried to find the words, what he could even say to describe something that immense-_
> 
> _“I think… I think I will wait, Doctor,” Hugh told him. “That is something I want to be able to experience in full coherency. I hope you understand.”_
> 
> _“Of course, Mr. Hugh,” the EMH spoke. “I know I would like you to rest as much as you’re able.”_
> 
> _Hugh’s eyes snapped open again at a realization, his heart rate ticking upward, “Everyone else, are they--”_
> 
> _“Resting,” the Doctor assured him, glancing to his medical tricorder, “as should you and your_ heart _should be, admittedly, but I understand your enthusiasm. In fact, if it’ll keep you in bed…”_
> 
> _The EMH was scooching closer to keep Hugh on the specialized alcove to keep him from craning his head too much, holding a PADD to the former Borg. Hugh’s body was weak, winded, exhausted from the overhaul; but in that same instance, nothing gave Hugh greater relief and comfort than the live feed the Doctor’s PADD showed him. Onscreen was… everyone, and oh! How different they all were, yet Hugh recognized them just the same! Various Starfleet technicians with former Borg advisors wandered the halls, speaking over regenerating friends performing absent scans or speaking with various individuals on the prone alcove biobeds. The conduits, failing augmentations- limbs once made of billions of nanochips, gone; it had fallen from them before, Troval and so many other medical leads had laid the groundwork, and these responders from Starfleet had helped stabilize their work! This thrill, now seeing their… “repaired” selves? Was that the right word, even? An infinite library’s storehouse of words were in his mind, but Hugh was left speechless, his smile only growing wider as he observed, saw, drank in the sight while the observation camera flickered- Crosis, even_ Troval _looking so peaceful…_
> 
> _How would he look?  
> _ _How did he look_ now? 
> 
> _Hugh didn’t even know if he could stomach that reality yet._
> 
> _“Mr. Hugh?”_
> 
> _He swallowed again._
> 
> _“Doctor,” Hugh managed, “it is… extraordinary what you have done.”_
> 
> _The Doctor’s stiff posture seemed to relax and his face brightened, as if he were waiting for a critique or criticism that never came. “I and my team still apologize for being unable to remove all the epidermal scarring,” he reminded the xB. “Many of your Borg cybernetics had begun to deteriorate along the borders of your skin from a multitude of factors- wear and tear from the elements, your organic tissues resurfacing from underneath Borg augmentations, general necrosis… and of course, your infamous cortical nodes; I am thankful to say our collaborated-upon blueprints were a success. Your eye,” the hologram queried, “can you see alright out of it, currently? I’d like to do some extended tests with your visual capability and integration tomorrow, if that’s alright; the light-blue coloration may not match your organic one, but it is best equipped to match your inherent Borg analyzation visual index. Your previously decided-upon, ah-- ‘lower additions’ have began to integrate quite well, according to these last scans- but you may experience a tenderness similar to the drains in... your…ah, Mr. Hugh, are you--”_
> 
> _Hugh’s head had fallen back into the prone alcove-made-biobed, a quiet sigh leaving his chest as his eyes had drawn shut. Oh, he was doing his best to listen; Hugh felt as if he should’ve been more_ capable _of listening, but his whole body was so exhausted, so sore from his… why, why was finding a word so difficult, considering how overjoyed he felt--_
> 
> _He heard the Doctor sigh pleasantly and give a little hum, tapping again on his medical tricorder and observing something regarding Hugh’s bandaging._
> 
> _“I will let you rest for now. Would you set a regeneration timer for three hours before you enter into that state again? If you are too tired, I can program it for yo--”_
> 
> _"I apologize, Doctor,” Hugh sighed, “Do not worry, I will manage it. Please, I-- do not interpret my exhaustion for an unwillingness to listen, but I am--”_
> 
> _"Understood entirely,” the EMH assured. “I and others who will want to see you will still be here when you awaken. Have a restful… well, you can’t exactly call it_ ‘sleep’ _now, can you.”_
> 
> _Hugh managed a little smile. “It’s the closest thing we have to it.”_
> 
> _“Well then. ‘Sweet dreams,’ however you may have them.”_
> 
> _And the EMH strode out of the small chamber with a quiet woosh of the door, Hugh logging the completion timer before grogginess could make him forget. The xB basked in the silence and ambient sounds of the starship’s medical ward, comforted by the sight and assurance of his friends’ survival… but before Hugh entered the peaceful stasis of regeneration again, he wanted to feel his face._
> 
> _Maybe his hair, too._
> 
> _From the way the Doctor spoke and what he felt, it sounded as if there was a lot more of it now._
> 
> _So he began to move his right hand- the hand before originally made so much heavier by failing augments that refused to fall from him. He opened it, closed it, turned his forearm- now all that remained were lines of freshly-primed scars, the biochip coupling on Hugh’s wrist melding quite strikingly with the scars and what led down to his nanoprobe tubes’ silver, cybernetic lines. The xB finally let his hand rest on the left side of his face, noting the way a freshly ebbing grin felt nudging the edge of his palm. He traced the line of a scar, down, down- 25 degrees to the left, a branching pathway that delved into his soft, full head of hair as he passed his ear..._
> 
> _He suddenly remembered the Doctor told him his new eye would be a light blue._
> 
> _Hugh noted an extra level of excitement at the prospect of seeing it for the first time. Though considering his circumstances, it was simply good to just have another eye again after seven years._
> 
> _After the rounding detour in his hair, Hugh’s hand went back down his face again, his throat, clavicle- and that smile spread its furthest at the tactile confirmation at an absence of weight on his chest._
> 
> _A compacting binder was sealed over his pectorals to aid in the healing process, as the offending tissue and exo-plating had worn heavy on his internal organs (and occasionally his peace of mind). The earlier excitement that the imagination of seeing his eye was stoked by this new thrill to see himself unburdened by that weight, reveling in the imagination of how he could look now? It was sore, tender, depleted- but oddly enough, the same kind of ache that, while painful, elicited a positive response._
> 
> _How paradoxical.  
> _ _How comforting._
> 
> _Minding the apparatuses that the Doctor seemingly equipped where Hugh’s underarms and pectorals met, the xB’s hand motioned further down- both to eventually return it to his side for regeneration, but also to confirm the other plating that had been removed, failing augments extracted, past his abdominals, hips, and down--_
> 
> _Ah. That’s right._
> 
> _And as his heart swelled with ecstatic relief and a multitude of implications too vast for him to name settled into reality, Hugh bit his lip._
> 
> _That was his.  
> _ _And that was going to be “fun” to explore later.  
> _ _It was all so much._
> 
> _But as his hand slid back down to his side, it all felt so right._
> 
> _Unknown, perhaps. Overwhelming at the idea of where he’d go from here, sure- the burden was great in knowing he could never go back to his old, former self._
> 
> _Yes, it was intimidating.  
> _ _It was also good.  
> _ _Another paradox._
> 
> _And after existing for 10 years as himself, as he wanted to be, Hugh and all his community, his friends, they…_
> 
> _The lump made itself known in his throat again.  
> _ _It was all so, so much to name. His processors were still groggy and his body required regeneration._
> 
> _So Hugh straightened himself in the prone medical alcove and slipped into the mental stream of regeneration, trying to find a word he could summarize this experience with to catalogue it into his memory archives._
> 
> _Remade. Closer; narrow the search. Reworked. Not wholly. Refurbished? No._
> 
> _“Reconstituted.”_
> 
> _Hugh liked the way that sounded._

In the present, Hugh heard Geordi meander towards him from behind, watching the man’s faint reflection in the Ready Room window in view of the _USS Louise Michel_.

“Real beauties those Excalibur classes are, huh,” Geordi mused, poking his head both where Hugh was looking _and_ on his shoulder. “Those schematics were the last big designs we had in the working drafts before Utopia Planitia was hit. Nice to finally see one off the blueprints and dropping out of warp.”

Hugh, while he was listening, had subtly nestled his shoulder more comfortably under Geordi’s chin. “Did you work on their specifications since then?”  
“Mostly just approving schematics with a senior design board,” the Commander said. “The fleet didn’t really get a chance to resume coming up with new ship designs until 2387 when relief efforts cooled down. Before then, all our resources were sequestered to just pumping out civilian transports and their escorts.” 

“Understandable, considering the circumstances.”   
“Mm.”  
Geordi, by this point fully resting his chin on the Director’s shoulder, turned his head by a fraction to Hughs’ face instead of the window. 

Hugh felt his cheeks flush. “Yes, dear?” 

“Love what you’re wearing, Director.”  
“What a coincidence; I find _you_ very handsome in your formal attire.”

And before Geordi had a chance to continue whatever it was he was about to say ( _or_ a premeditated kiss, by Hugh’s theorization), the Commander’s combadge chirped with a hail from a flight control ensign, Geordi sighing in disappointment before he plapped his chest to Hugh’s chuckling. “Go ahead, Ensign.”

 _“The_ USS Louise Michel _is initiating their orbit protocol, Commander. Captain Torres said her and the envoy Klingon officers will beam in at exactly 1650 hours, but they’ll be ‘sending a message ahead of time’ that fight control will forward immediately to you.”_

“Something ahead of time, huh? Thank you, Ensign; clear them for standard orbital procedures, and let us know when they’re ready to transport. Inform Director Second Crosis and Subcommander Vorik to proceed to my Ready Room as soon as possible.”

“ _Yes, Commander.”_

“< _Incoming message for_ _Commander Geordi La Forge and Executive Director Hugh_ _from Federation-Klingon alliance vessel, >” _the computer followed up. _“ <Message contains executable subroutine that would initiate self-installation onto local station servers and holo-emitters.>”_

_Holo-emitters, hm?_

Hugh quirked his brow and looked knowingly to the ceiling, Geordi straightening as he leaned up from looming over his desk. “Computer, what is the nature of the executable?” 

“< _Holographic program; Emergency Medical Hologram Mk. I. >” _

Hugh’s face immediately spread into a wide smile.  
 _He’s here._

_“ <State desired deployment of holographic program.>” _

Looking to Geordi as if to share his enthusiasm, the Commander caught his smile, standing up a bit taller and sauntering to Hugh’s side… and before the Director could say anything in objection, Geordi held up a finger, murmured “ _before_ I confirm that deployment,” and Hugh allowed his face to be cradled for a loving, long-lasting kiss since the Commander had been robbed of the opportunity before.

Hugh’s processors logged another kiss into an ever-expanding archive dedicated to Geordi. 

_“ <State desired deployment of holographic program.>” _

The Commander pulled back, lovingly papping the Director’s face before turning and standing at attention. “Here’s perfect enough.” 

_“ <Downloading executable.>” _

And in a sequence of repeated visual oscillations- from all framework, photonic, and structural ignition in what looked like three separate phase-ins, the Emergency Medical Hologram Mk. I beamed into Geordi’s Ready Room.

He’d aged. Barely, by Hugh’s cybernetic analysis, but enough for the xB to notice; as if the Doctor initiated an aging algorithm to give those around him the sympathies of time’s mark on the photonic doctor, though he certainly did not require this. But his eyes… oh, the EMH’s eyes held the same kindness, the same caring spark of life that Hugh so dearly remembered first waking up to after Reconstitution, the Director feeling his own face crease and ache from a residual smile at seeing the Doctor’s trademark baldness. Turning in his blue-striped Starfleet dress uniform to face both Geordi and Hugh, the EMH’s expression softened once out of the holo-emitter’s default deployment, Hugh watching his photonic line of sight dart in between Geordi and himself.

“Gentlemen,” the EMH proclaimed, “I have good news for you: the _Solstice_ base’s holo-emitters seem to be functioning right as rain. Though I suppose you would’ve known _immediately_ if they weren’t _,_ considering I’d appear _very_ out of sorts otherwise.”

Hugh managed an excited “Doctor--” of a greeting as he trotted towards the hologram, firmly gripping and shaking the EMH’s photonic hand with his own augmented palm. At the barest hint of a tug from the Doctor, Hugh took the photonic into a hug, patting his former surgeon on the back as memories stewed comfortingly in his mind. 

> _“Everyone else, are they--”  
> _ _“Resting; as should you and your_ heart _should be, admittedly, but I understand your enthusiasm.”_

“You look quite well, Hugh,” the EMH mused. “A _common_ trait for most of my patients, thankfully, but I find myself _immensely_ pleased to see your fair state.” 

“You have the skills to boast for it, Doctor,” the Director responded. “Thank you again for transferring to the Atlas Project.”  
He scoffed playfully. “And miss out on everything happening _here?_ As familiar as I am with the Delta Quadrant and its border now, Hugh, one's own algorithmic processors need the occasional _refreshing_ from a usually-observed environment. Additionally,” his high-strung countenance allowed in a softening smile, “I am happy to see you, Director. You are a good man doing good things, and I am happy to further the Reclamation Project’s cause where and _when_ I’m able to.”

Hugh swallowed a swell of pride and let it nestle in the pit of a humbled, well-complimented core.

“And we are fortunate to have encountered you during its inception.” 

“My fellow, newly-formed photonic is included in this enthusiasm, I hope?”  
“As is any xB, I cannot, and _revel_ in the fact I cannot speak for him,” Hugh mused, “but from what I’ve seen of Atlas, I expect and dearly hope so.”

“I’ll toss in my mutual assurance of that, Doctor,” Geordi suddenly piped from behind Hugh. “I spent practically all yesterday repairing some of his hull’s power conduits, and I haven’t seen him this excited about anything since we told him your expected arrival date.”   
Hugh and the EMH turned to Geordi at his words, a sense of… gratefulness, admiration- _thankfulness_ that Geordi had allowed Hugh a singular moment of a reunion with a man who’d pulled his people from a horrific, unspeakable mire. The Commander meandered slowly towards them while speaking, Hugh unable to hide the infatuation he felt ebb at his expression as he watched Geordi extend his hand to EMH.

“Good to see you, Doc.”

“Well well,” the EMH humored, shaking Geordi’s hand with firmness and gusto, “I haven’t seen the two of _you_ together for quite some time now, have I.”

“You will be seeing a lot _more_ of us for the next few months, Doctor.”  
“Ooo, if you can _stomach_ that- we’ve proven we can be a little obnoxious together, as fun as it may be.”

“Oh, please; I’ve stomached all flavors of ‘obnoxious coworker’ in my life, and you two hardly come to mind,” the Doctor teased. “But it is just as good to see you too, Commander La Forge. I look forward to serving under your jurisdiction as an extended branch of peace between the Federation and Liberated Borg Cooperation. Captain Torres and her crew won’t be ready for another ten minutes or so,” EMH prattled, “she sent _me_ along to apologize for the lateness, allow me a moment with some old patients… _and_ give to you a ‘head’s up.’”  
“A ‘head’s up’?” Geordi repeated.

“Let’s just saaay 24 days on a Federation vessel have left the House of Koloth representatives a tad… ‘jumpy.’ I hope you’re ready to greet some rather feisty Klingons, Sirs.”

“Crosis and I have our ‘diplomacy routines’ with Klingon entourages down well enough by this point,” Hugh hinted, feeling a questioning glance from Geordi. “Though the circumstances of acquiring this knowledge were unfortunately taken by horrid means, ‘proper social etiquette’ is something we are happy to take part in, if it builds towards fostering good relations with such a proud species.”

“Mm, well- as station Commander, you’ve made me very interested in these ‘diplomacy routines’ of yours, Director.” 

_Oh, sweet Geordi._

“You’ll see.” 

* * *

Klingon meetings related to diplomacy were always a mixed bag, in Commander La Forge’s experience. For as mixed as they _could_ be, however, they were almost always certainly “fun” and “enlightening,” this particular meeting made more so by Hugh’s teasings and allusions. By the time everyone was gathered in the transporter room (and after a sincere Vulcan greeting from Vorik paired with an almost stabilization field-crushing hug from Crosis to the Doctor), Vorik was manning the transporter controls, the Directors standing at attention as Geordi watched his Subcommander. The Doctor, who was standing between both him and Vorik, grinned as he gracefully placed both his hands on Geordi’s and Vorik’s shoulders, pulling them back a few steps as the light of three transporter signatures shimmered in. 

Wait, was-- Hugh cracking his _knuckles--?_

“I would suggest you stand _back_ , gentlemen,” the Doctor crooned quietly against the transporter console, “xBs are _quite_ well versed in ‘proper Klingon social etiquette;’ don’t you recall, Commander?” 

Both he and Vorik initially turned their heads to protest the Doctor from touching and pulling them in such a manner, but the two exchanged quick glances before immediately hearing the heavy thud of Klingon boots march against the transporter pad.  
Suddenly, they listened, whipping their heads to the three arrivals.

And Captain B’Elanna Torres simply crossed, folded, and rested her arms against her dress uniform, cocking an eyebrow as she watched the House of Koloth men skulk their B-lines straight for Hugh and Crosis.

Hugh and Crosis, who were in the middle of-- taking off their jackets, tossing them to the floor, and-- 

_Oh my god._

Geordi could only watch absolutely gobsmacked as both Hugh and Crosis, for a lack of better words, went to town on the House of Koloth men. In a flash (and utilizing that flurry-like style Hugh so loved to practice), the Executive Director disarmed a suddenly-drawn Klingon dagger with a wrist-driven strike, returning the attempted blow with a first-struck knee to the gut. Crosis, meanwhile, a brute in his own right and knowing how to utilize his weight, landed the first blow on his opponent with a hard, juggernaut-like punch to his chest, stunning the Klingon momentarily before he regained his coherency and gave Crosis a solid punch in his side. Geordi could literally only place his hand on his forehead and rub said hand all over his face, watching this… what was even a word. He was sounding like Hugh at this point; _“oh Geordi, how do I describe this,”_ except of the very sweet and gay voice this happened to be his _boyfriend_ and _his hulk of a best friend_ beating the shit out of two Klingon empire representatives!?

Geordi, with what must’ve been complete shock on his face, looked to Torres for _some_ sort of sense over the grunts, thuds, and yells--

Torres, from her "perch," just... shrugged? 

Happy to watch!?  
Okay! Sure!  
Geordi knew xBs were strong, sure, and he knew but-- seeing it?! Watching it!?

Wow. Hugh was, uh-- strong.   
Really strong. 

By the time he looked back to the… fucking _fight pile_ , Geordi guessed he could call it, Hugh had a busted eyebrow, _oh, oh no was he alright,_ and his face look well bruised as he staggered back from a hit, Crosis was suplexing his own combatant with a hard crash onto the floor. In a flash, Hugh had lept for his opponent to grasp him in a chokehold (but not before the Klingon could reach for his dagger again to point it at his throat), and Crosis was in an odd sort of pretzel with his own, similarly locked enemy as the Klingon tugged at his braid. The four grimaced at each other for a horridly long moment, blood matting Crosis’ bangs from his forehead and Hugh wincing… and suddenly, the Klingons ceased their growling and devolved into uproarious, hearty laughter, Hugh and Crosis finally sighed in relief to start their own winded chuckling, and Geordi felt his soul about to leave his body. 

“You xBs _never_ disappoint!” Crosis’ opponent cackled from the ground, giving Crosis’ braid one more tug (to which Crosis responded with another “playful(?)” punch).

“Only… only proper way to-- greet someone!” Hugh called back, heaving for breath as his rival released him from the headlock.

“On your _feet,_ Nashq’keth,” Torres grumbled as she sauntered down the transporter pad, reaching down and pulling the Klingon up with her own strength. “You are guests here- and you will show them _respect_.” 

“It has already been _earned,_ Captain Torres,” Hugh’s opponent hissed as he sheathed his dagger. “For many moons, no one has felled my blade as quickly as _Executive Director Hugh_ has.”

“Grahn’hoq, shall you challenge him again?” the Klingon teased, “you sound _pestered!_ At least _I know_ when to submit to Director Second _Crosis_ here!”

“If you’re looking for another challenge,” Hugh declared, rolling his arm and giving a stretch and oh, Geordi, he was _looking_ at Hugh, “I know Crosis, our-” he took his breath in again, “ _esteemed_ wrestling club manager, would be _more_ than enthused to host you, sirs.”

“Right you are, Director!”

Torres held up a finger. “Introductions, I feel, are due first.” 

She turned to all Vorik, EMH, and Geordi.  
Geordi could practically hear Vorik swallow, EMH drummed his steepled fingers together, and Geordi felt very much like a complete nerd compared to the display before him.

He _was_ a nerd, granted, but--

“Commander Vorik,” Torres greeted, “it’s been a while.”  
“It has, Captain,” the Vulcan said wistfully. “I find it is cathartic _and_ good to see you again. I send my earnest regards to Commanders Kim and Paris as well on Starbase 158.”

By her thin, yet complicated expression, it seemed to Geordi that the two had a lot of history that he was in absolutely _no_ place to pry into.

Down the line and “next up” was EMH, who merely smiled widely and held up open hands. “Well don’t look at _me,_ ” the hologram crooned playfully, “I’ve been merely catching a ride for the past few weeks.”

“You make a fine sparring refresher, Doctor,” Grahn’hoq commented. “It will be _most_ unfortunate to not be able to return to Qo’noS with you.” 

He nodded with a smile- laced with both forced politeness and an inward dread, as the man had probably seen his fair share of broken Klingon bones and bloody bruises. “The sentiment is appreciated.” 

“And you,” Torres mused, Geording watching her look him up and down, “it’s an honor to meet the renowned Commander La Forge. Thank you for hosting these men and the _Louise Michel.”_

“Anything for the legend of an engineer who kept that Intrepid flying solo through the unknown space for seven years,” Geordi hummed, feeling _some_ of his composure finally return. “I’ve read up on what you’re keeping watch out there by the Delta Quadrant, too. You have my respects, Captain.” 

“The same can be said for the Atlas Project, if not more.” 

“Maybe it’s something xBs just see in us, huh.”

Geordi shot Hugh a quick, brow-furrowed grin, the Director returning it with his own bashful, blood-tinged smile.

It got an amused smirk out Torres, at least.

As the group spoke, the two Klingons were already beginning to draw their attention to Crosis.

“This ‘ _wrestling club_ ’ of yours, Director Second--”

“A round of bloodwine _first_ , Nashq’keth- _then_ the ‘wrestling club,’” a Klingon grumbled to his cohort, “I should like to see the Director Second with the fires of Kahless flowing through his veins-!”

“Please, please, sirs; call me by my name; ‘Crosis,’ if you would!”

“Mm, yes- ‘Crosis;’ it is a _strong_ name, xB,’” muttered the other in awe, “I do not even know its native _tongue!_ ”

“Ohhh, it is short for the word _‘_ nec _rosis,’_ sirs,” the man boasted with dramatic allure. “Given to me when the flesh fell from my eye by my augment’s shedding, and I had no _name_ yet for the phenomena, would you believe! What better way than to own the death of a former self- than to take the name of the very thing that tried to eat you alive!”

Crosis had the Klingons enraptured with arms slung over their similarly-statured shoulders and began to trot out the transporter room, Torres sighing as she and the four men watched them go.

“Can he keep an eye on them?”  
“We went over everything last night, Captain,” Hugh assured once back at Geordi’s side, “this is _not_ my Director Second’s first time with Klingon diplomats.”  
“Agreed- if anyone’s gonna show him a good time, it’s Crosis.”

“I can concur, Captain.” 

Hugh and Geordi trying desperately to hold back squirming smirks and amused snickers from their eavesdropping as Crosis and the Klingons’ voices disappeared down the hall. 

“We should like to hear _more_ of your conquests over bloodwine, xB-”

“Which ones, sirs; what _kinds_ of conquests!? I am a self-made man of _many_ triumphs, you must be _specific_!”

Torres sighed, remembering something- “Oh, hell, they still need me to-- hey you three!” she called out as she trot after them, “get back here! Commander La Forge- your Ready Room, 10 minutes--” 

Vorik, turning to Geordi, raised an eyebrow and awaited further instruction. “She might need some help," Geordi sighed, "who knows- and I gotta put a call in to--”  
“I will escort them, Commander.”  
“I might go with them, if that’s alright-” the Doctor also chided, jabbing a thumb and concerned expression, “I heard some cracking earlier and I’d _like_ to ensure that was superficial--”  
A dissonant crash further down the hall and a “HEY!” made Vorik and EMH jump some and clamber after the Captain, and suddenly Geordi was alone with his beat up, sweaty, sleeveless xB boyfriend.

Able to properly exchange Hugh’s grin when the trio was out of once-guffawing earshot, the Commander plapped his combadge.

“Commander La Forge to Naomi Armstrong,” Geordi sighed, “you’ve got some ah, ‘special guests’ headed for your bartop, we feel like.”

“ _Oh, don’t worry Commander,”_ came _Solstice’s_ sardonic barkeeper, the sound of clinking bottles accompanying her voice, _“we’ve been battening down the hatches all day for this. Thanks for the head’s up, though.”_

“Use however many replicator rations you need. La Forge out.”

Geordi looked Hugh up and down, bruises already welling on Hugh’s exposed, muscular arms and blood leaking from his cracked eyebrow.

Geordi, licking his thumb, rubbed at an easily-wipeable streak of blood as he meandered closer towards Hugh. “Was that fun? For you? Did you have a good time? That was _very_ fun to watch, I’ll have you know- Scared the shit out of me at first, but it looked like you know what you were doing--” 

Hugh beamed at Geordi’s gesture as his chuckling died down. “Paradoxically, I may have been hoping for _and_ anticipating that reaction from you.”

“Mm. Well, I might have to ask you to personally _instruct_ me regarding your implementations of ‘Klingon Diplomacy,’ Director- I could always improve my Klingon hospitalities.”

“I believe private lessons could be arranged for your enrichment and education, Mr. La Forge. On a much gentler scale, of course.”

“I may have been hoping for an offer like that, Mr. Hugh.”

The two held their smirk until Geordi made a wink and a faux smooch at the xB.

_Smooth._

“Let’s go grab yours and Crosis’ jackets up off the floor, you hooligan,” the Commander sighed, eventually shaking his head in a laugh. “Never know when you need to show off those guns towards a Klingon.”

“You- mean my arms…? ‘Guns,’ what does that--”

“I’ll explain later, dear.”

After the Klingons had been sent on their _proper_ course with Crosis with Vorik and Hugh giving EMH the tour of _Solstice,_ Captain Torres later rejoined Geordi in his Ready Room for some good old fashioned Starfleet protocol. The Commander, a man who wore his heart on a Starfleet sleeve, was in no way trying to superficially inflate Torres’ ego with his earlier comments about _Voyager;_ the fact she kept that little ship running over so many light years with a rightful chip on her shoulder against Starfleet was a testament to her engineering prowess, La Forge happy beyond belief that the adopted crews’ records were cleared near immediately after their arrival home, and their court martial was replaced by a Medal of Honor ceremony. Even more amazing, however, was seeing her commanding an engineering-specialties ship with a Maquis-inspired name she picked herself, and managing a station that saw the same kind of action Deep Space 9 could get in 2373.

Meandering back from his Ready Room’s replicator, he offered her the Manhattan in a pot. “Your husbands have been well, Captain?”

“Commander Paris makes a fine-enough station pilot instructor,” B’elanna boasted as sarcasm nipped at her tone, “and Commander Kim does an ever-impressive job managing Starbase 158. Might not be a typical family life like we have on a station at the Delta Quadrant’s border, but nobody came out of _Voyager_ very ‘typical’ at all.”

“Considering everything, I don’t hold your crew to any ‘typical’ standards at all, Captain.” 

“Your solidarity is appreciated.”

With a dry smirk, the two pot glasses made a little -clink!-, and Geordi sipped his Sex on the Beach.

As Torres smacked at her vermouth-hinted liquor, she mulled on a thought.

“I’ve got something you probably wanna know, by the way,” Torres noted, “and I’d feel a little weird talking about anything else until you knew about it.”

Geordi gave her a look. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

“Comfort's never really been my strong suit. But relax, it’s fine,” she sighed, “nothing too big, it’s just… eugh. Something I wish I hadn’t accidentally found out about. Thank Janeway; she’s supposed to be the one telling you this before she had to emergency toodle off to Vulcan, and I by mistake saw it on her itinerary PADD before she left.”

“How pissed is Janeway gonna be if I find out from _you_ before she tells me _herself?”_

“She’ll get over it,” B’elanna crooned, “besides: who says the announcement won’t just come in a stuffy little document rather than someone getting to tell you?”

“Fine, Captain- you’ve convinced me,” Geordi hummed. “What is it?”

Torres took another sip. 

“It’s regarding your rank, Commander. Or, should I say, _‘Captain’_ La Forge,” Torres dropped, “should you accept a promotion at the gala coming up. Because they’re gonna offer it to you again, and they wanna include it in the Gala’s programming.”

_Captaincy._

Geordi liked how the word sounded. A lot.   
But he also knew the responsibilities that came _with_ it. 

Considering the last time he’d declined a Captain’s title was about a year after the decimation of Utopia Planitia in 2386, a time where he didn’t even feel he should be responsible for _anything_ anymore? Thankfully, he was doing better now; he knew better than to shuck the responsibility of that tragedy onto his shoulders for something he had no control over. But the synth ban that followed it, knowing all the families that lost loved ones to that inferno, and the heartache of knowing some people thought sentient lifeforms like his dearly-departed Data was a callous murderer _just_ because of his nature…

It made Geordi take another sip.

But also: the gala? Really? Was _that_ the best time for an announcement when people should be getting together for the xBs? For the Cooperation/Federation? Though with that, he could do a _lot_ as a Captain _for_ the Cooperation, sure, but were the Admirals really wanting him out on a ship? What _for,_ if it _were_ for a ship? Too many questions, so many possibilities that merely poised what with timing...

Another realization made him nearly choke on his drink. 

Oh, he couldn’t-- he couldn’t be away from Hugh that long if they put him on a ship.  
No. Not when he’d just felt… so happy, and the thought of being away for a five'r...

“Damn, that-- got you thinking, alright,” Torres scoffed, “I feel like Seven, trying to name all the emotions going on in your face that I’m seeing--”

Geordi sighed, swallowing. “As long as I’m allowed the final say in my assignments as a Captain. Don’t get me wrong, B’Elanna; I’ll happily take that offer any day, but--”

“I’m not the one you’re gonna have to tell this to, you know.”

“Well, you _told_ me, so _you_ get the earful now,” Geordi remarked. “I do best when I’m on a station nowadays like I am here. Captaining starships belong to younger souls who haven’t seen as much as we have, who _want_ to explore all that. Also, I...”

Geordi’s hand continued to rub at his beard as he thought, eyes glued to the emptiness of space before the window. 

“‘Also?’” 

He sighed.

 _He couldn’t leave Hugh.  
_ _Not already, not when they’d just--_

“I don’t know if I could accept it during the gala,” the Commander admitted. “I don’t want to co-opt something that the Federation and Cooperation should be celebrating together. If they came beforehand or after, made it a small enough thing where just a limited amount of personnel came, that’s… I’m alright with that. But this gala should be about _them_. I’m apart of it, yeah, but it’s about what we and the Reclamation Project are accomplishing out here. Not some…” Geordi flit his hand, " _rank_ that only applies to me and an in-house self gratification or whatever.”

“You can say ‘circle jerk,’ it’s fine.”

Geordi snorted into his glass. “I’ll take a Captain's pips, sure. But they’re gonna come on _my_ terms. Not for Starfleet’s public face. And I’m not… ready to hop on a ship right now. Set me down as a Station commander somewhere near Ohniaka III and I’ll be happy.”

“Haven’t gotten sick of the Borg bonanza yet?” 

“Oh, like I said earlier,” Geordi pointed out, “Maybe it’s something xBs just see in us. Maybe it's something I see in _them.”_

Torres grinned, swirling the darkened cherries in her glass.

“That’s probably the most genuine, _least_ Starfleet-stuffy thing I’ve heard in months, Commander,” B’Elanna noted. “I appreciate it. And if it’s any assurance, I think they’ve got enough captains zipping around as-is-- what with the Romulans slinking around, ships coming back from Delta Quadrant expeditions every two weeks covered in Borg Cube cutter fire that _we’ve_ gotta take care of... But I think I understand your sentiments, La Forge,” B’Elanna allowed him. “There’s a reason Harry’s managing the station, and I don’t go much further than a few weeks out at a time. Us three couldn’t do that to Miral _or_ John. ...To each other. Not when we nearly lost each other so many times.”

“You keep a pretty tight operation over there, from what I’ve heard.”

“You have to, considering where we _are_ ,” she rolled her eyes. “Not _as_ ridiculous as somewhere like Deep Space 9 got during the 2370s, sure- but we’ve seen our humble share of incidents. ...Maybe a little bit, actually.” 

“I’m glad to see you unharmed despite it all, Captain.”

A grin tugged one side upwards as she accepted the practical compliment.

“How’s it been, anyway- working out here?” Torres asked, meandering closer to the window to get a good view of Atlas. “Queenie downstairs giving you trouble?”

Geordi smirked. “In her own way,” the Commander sighed, "but nothing beyond making the Director and I feel like we both need a _nap_ after her ripping into us as a captive audience.”

B’Elanna squinted. “xBs don’t take naps.”

_Shit._

“Naps in the _metaphorical_ sense of the word, Captain,” Commander LaForge sighed. “Still, she’s… gotten _somewhat_ reasonable, in her most recent sessions. Hugh’s a patient man and knows what it’s been like for her, to some degree. We’ve got meetings every week, but we’re doing what we can in all circumstances.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when we’d be offering a _Borg Queen_ the equivalent of individuality convalescence,” the Klingon grumbled. “I just hope it’s the right thing.” 

“The _wrong_ thing to do would’ve been to let her detonate the sphere and blow three Cooperation ships _and_ a brand-new lunar station to smithereens with their crews,” Geordi pointed out. “It’s been… hard on the Director, I’ll admit it; she hits a lot of soft spots with him, and she knows how to push his buttons. They both do; she’s just more willing to play dirty. But he’s determined, and she’s starting to realize that maybe there’s _more_ to lean on in this stage of life than just... slimy self-defense insults, and defending something that won’t even take you back.” 

“You care a lot about him.” 

_If only you knew._

“I’ve known him as long as his… _idea_ of who he is, his _existence_ , _has_ existed, B’Elanna,” Geordi stressed. “And he, his group- they’ve been through so much. And despite it, they’re still trying to make some good out of whatever the Hivemind tosses out like garbage and is all too happy to let die without a second thought. I’ve gotta admire that- their determination. Their care. I’ve gotta find _something_ I’m passionate about again with just as much fervor as _they’ve_ got for helping those people become… people.” 

Torres squinted at him.

“Hm.”  
“What.”  
“Nothing,” she sipped at her glass again. “Did you stay behind to clean him up or something? I can smell his blood on you. ...Some spit on the lips, maybe.” 

_Fuck_.

From his reaction, Torres smirked. 

“Come on, whaddya take me for- Maquis don't snitch. I won’t say any _thing_ else to any _one_ else, Commander; you’ve got three days to get loose with me if you want, but your business is yours.”

He sighed roughly, trying to brush away the blush already skirting his cheeks. 

“Gimme a couple more of _these,”_ Geordi jingled the ice and glass, “or give _Hugh half_ of one of these, and you’ll have us looser than a Galaxy class going Warp 5.” 

The Captain scoffed her own chuckle. “That was baaad.”  
“I tried.” 

So Geordi, trying to hide that tender little heart on his sleeve and treasure it for later with Hugh, tried to think of something.

“I’ve got a riddle for you, Captain,” Geordi recalled, Torres turning her attention to him. “Tell me if this rings any bells: any idea of what could be a ‘person, place, and a road’ at the same time?”

“If this is gonna be some stupid Borg joke, I don’t wanna hear the rest of it.” 

Geordi rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun,” he sighed, “but no, not that. Few weeks ago, we finally got our first clue as to how this sphere might’ve wound up here from 17 years ago in the _first_ place, but that phrase is all we’ve got to go on so far. Apparently the Queens cleared out everything on the Sphere’s side of things, _including_ whatever Queen 127 may have known, so it’s been slim pickings. Thought maybe someone who’s seen some interesting stuff in the Delta Quadrant during her lifetime could throw us a bone.”

Torres pursed her lips in thought. “Well, the only ‘road’ I could think of would be subspace warp conduits, but they’ve had that technology for almost decades now. They’ve got lots of ‘roads’ there already,” she offered, “also, what would they be doing with _singular_ persons since they’re a Collective, and why look for _roads_ when they’ve already got what they needed with subspace travel? Or _another_ type of road, maybe? What’s the advantage? The ‘place’ thing, I dunno,” Torres shrugged. “That’s a new one for me. Maybe a new _place_ with new roads?”

“Yeah. ...Hmm- good points, though.”  
Geordi sipped again at his drink.

The sweetness of peach made him smile, remembering Hugh’s reaction to tasting this drink for the first time as the clapping of pigeon wings fluttered by.

“At least we have a lot to work with.”


	15. premonitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many things that lurk deep within Borg vessels. Drones? Of course. Queens? Hard to imagine an Empress outside of her dominion, but maybe it could happen. Technology no one has ever fathomed? Eerie connections, and ghosts from haunted pasts? All present and accounted for, sure.  
> Is it possible, then, to have mysteries sleep on a Borg ship that go entirely unknown to the Collective? When everything is (supposedly) one, and all is (supposedly) known? 
> 
> In which: a Commander makes some things clear about a promotion, a Doctor changes uniform, a Director checks in on a special someone, and we take a walk down memory lane with an android before a rather big (and ominous) day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. HI. SORRY IT'S BEEN A HOT MINUTE SINCE MY USUAL UPDATE SPEED, but i moved apartments and am back at it again !!! || also took my time with this one b/c there's a lot of little plot threads that are gaining length and i wanna make sure shit's done right y'know :) || i'm sorry it's too tempting tying greek mythos into some of these names || thank you jo/joatlas on AO3 with help for latin translation (and for the Louise Michel's name) !!! || the samarian sunset is a reference to a VERY baller hugh/geordi fic "Lands of Plenty, Lands of Loss" by wordswithout in the tag, please go read it (and OP if you're reading this thank you for my life) || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 1, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION COMMANDER READY ROOM**

> ** _CH. 2, SECTION I- ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION SOCIETAL STRUCTURE - THE RECLAMATION PROJECT_ **
> 
> _While I have already discussed my observations regarding Cooperation life on Ohniaka III, I feel as if I’ve only begun to scratch the surface of its space-faring presence in the galaxy: the Reclamation Project. Although only officially ratified in the Federation’s eyes and her allies in 2379, xB historians argue the Reclamation Project technically began in 2368- when the Progenitors first began to peel back their augments and found their bodies were, as Junction Horus has described to me, “self-made temples in their own Reclaimed images.” As Starfleet spontaneously birthed and now weaves itself into the fabric of the United Federation of Planets, the Symbiosis Commission coexists with the bones of Trill society on a biological and societal level, and the Klingon Empire relies on its 11 houses as the High Council’s galactic source of might and honor, so too does the Liberated Borg Cooperation extend itself into space and its people with the Reclamation Project: in history, lineage, and “reclamation” for all xBs._
> 
> _The following chapter will examine the Reclamation Project in the following manners: a brief overview and its mission statement, intent for galactic venturings and Cooperation-aligned colonies/settlements, and then be dissected per its four divisions. All official inquiries and desired internships can be made freely to Reclamation Project Administration or Cooperation government; so long as you are willing to work with a slew of qualified xB professionals and be immersed in this fledgling society. For my Federation/Starfleet colleagues on Terra Prime, you will know Cooperation delegates (or civilians) visiting San Francisco by a number of qualities: their geometric, dark, and dramatically sweeping sense of fashion, the gleaming gold-and-silver badges bearing the cubical sigil of the Liberated Borg, and the scars and augmentations that litter their bodies; not carried in anguish or self-hatred, mind you, but as treasured pottery would be repaired with inlaid gold- unique, valued, and utterly beautiful to each individual._
> 
> _The Reclamation Project houses four divisions: **Consultation** , **Medical** , **Cybernetics** , and **Engineering** , and its overall goal is the “The willing Reclamation of every former Borg that has been Liberated from the Collective” (to compliment the Liberated Borg Cooperation's motto, "Individuality's Needs, Community's Many"/"Necessitates Propriae, Ob Civitati Abundans"). Seasoned politicians will notice there is an absence of “Military” and/or “Security” within these branches; the xBs of Ohniaka III, while possessing planet-wide defense systems, starship armaments, and primarily defense-based technology, attempt to adhere to a principle of pacifism, and have yet to actively instigate any recorded instance of intergalactic conflict, other than destabilization of opposing starship weapons systems or individual agitators. An administrative subsection is dedicated to affairs that deal with communications between Cooperation government and Reclamation Project staff (both on Ohniaka III and affiliated micro-colonies off-world); much like Cooperation societal intent, the Reclamation Project is removed from Starfleet-tangential structures of hierarchy, and relies purely on collective decision-making and processing of productive, individual-enriching intent. _
> 
> _In comparison to Starfleet's motto of "Ex Astris, Scientia ("From the Stars, Knowledge")", the Reclamation Project lays its intent bare for not only the galaxy, but its own staff: "_ _Know Thyself" (and by Starfleet-mandated Latin translation: "Temet Nosce")._

Commander Geordi La Forge (soon-to-be _Captain_ La Forge) watched Hugh take in the news of his promotion, charmed by the Director’s widening enthusiasm in both his eyes and a rapidly-spreading smile.

“‘Captain!’” the Director repeated.

“Yeah!”

“Hm- ‘Captain,’ then…”

Geordi smirked. “Whaddya think.”

The xB straightened his head and rolled his jaw with a smirk, pondering the Commander’s, soon-to-be _Captain’s_ , words.

“I think I could get quite _used_ to hearing that title. ... _‘Captain’_ La Forge.” 

Amazing what 23 years outside of a Hivemind could do to someone’s ability to flirt. 

“Well _I_ happen to like it when you _say_ it, Director- how about that. Could get used to that myself.” 

Geordi’s heart swelled and ached as he watched the Director who, at a loss for words, could only respond with a squirming smile and bashful look downwards. 

But Hugh, regaining his mental footing from the flattery, spoke again: “Your request for a different decoration date other than the gala is appreciated and warmly noted.”

“I’m not gonna let them use me to take the spotlight off what we’ve been working on, Hugh. These people need to be reminded that you and the Reclamation Project aren’t just some _backdrop_ they can use for a big fancy set piece,” Geordi assured, “and that we’ve been out here _working._ Working to bring people towards a new home, new life- maybe make some discoveries along the way… an Admiral can get here a day or two earlier. And considering what I’ve helped _do_ for Starfleet my entire career, the least they could do is give _me_ a say in where I want to be stationed as a Captain.” 

“And where might that be?”

Geordi had to stop himself from immediately saying _“near you_.”

“I- have some ideas,” Geordi teased with a smile as he caught his own nerves, “Ideas I think you’d like. But is it alright if we keep that for later? Nothing I don't want to talk about with you, I just-- I want to discuss what we need to with the Admiral right now. Keep ourselves as focused as possible.”

“Of course.” 

Hugh’s mismatched eyes complimented his signature xB stare. 

“I anticipate you already _know_ this, Geordi, but I will take the opportunity to declare it anyway. ...I’m proud of you.”

“That’s one of the best rewards I could ge--”

Geordi’s train of thought was cut off by Torres marching back into the Commander’s Ready Room- her aggravated, eye-rolling frown and wave of a hand all the context they needed to know how the events to cause her absence had gone. Not long after her and Geordi’s conversation was just getting into official debriefing and before they could call Janeway, B'Elanna's combadge chirped and requested an intervention, apparently one of the Klingon delegates demanding her audience for a “fair referee” in Crosis' wrestling club. Captain Torres, understandably aggravated, apologized and promised to return in at least an hour, or she would _make sure_ the match would end by an hour's time.

Meanwhile, Hugh had returned from Atlas' hull and introducing the hologram in question to the Project's newest Medical Resource staffer. With delight on his face, Hugh recounted to Geordi how the Doctor shook Atlas' hand with gusto, bravado, and the photonic xB's own reserved enthusiasm could be seen in charming reciprocation. The Doctor had chosen to remain using his mobile emitter and spend the evening inside the sphere, and Hugh told Geordi of how, when Atlas offered to transfer his knowledge of the Sphere's schematics to the Doctor's program, the EMH accepted, but he also asked to be given a "physical tour." 

> _"For what purpose would this serve if you are given the layout of the premises already?" Hugh recounted the hologram questioning. "You would not have to 'walk' it to understand the craft's layout."_
> 
> _"Of course; the floor plan is information that I will find_ most _valuable for familiarizing myself with you. ...Your, er, 'hull'- however you have begun to classify these differing entities. Although... I would like to 'see it for myself,'" the Doctor had told him, "because I have learned there is a difference between_ knowing _something, and_ understanding _it. And considering I will_ be _here for a good long while, I should like to_ enact _on that philosophy."_

In the present, Geordi was comforted from his recent confession of Torres' divulged information (and assurance to Hugh that he had nothing to fret over should she notice their affections towards each other), happy to know the three could all be on call (and on the same page) in front of Admiral Janeway. 

"Hi, hi, alright- sorry," Torres sighed, "now that _that's_ all done, let's actually get down to a debrief..." 

"How did it go, Captain?" Hugh asked.

She shook a finger. " _Your_ guy," the Captain started, "Crosis? First off, he's _good;_ I haven't seen someone put Grahn’hoq in a headlock that quick in a _long_ time. Second of all: sorry, he might need to take a shift off tomorrow, or at least be _sitting_ for a majority of the day. You xBs are strong, but from what I saw he's gonna be at least _somewhat_ sore." 

"If it brings you any comfort, I can assure you Crosis has been waiting for this, in some capacity," Hugh boasted, "it is a sport and passion he takes pride in. ...As long as the Director Second and a man I call 'friend' is not... _grievously_ injured, right--"

"Other than having some bruises that'll be nice and red, nah," Torres assured, "I don't think so. ...At least, that's-- what it _looked_ like before I left; it could change real quick, you know."

"I don't think anything will beat our diplomacy ventures to Qo'noS in 2385," Hugh remarked, "but I will make it a point to ensure he has not expended himself _too_ heavily."

A curious spark flared an interested smirk on the Commander's face. "'Diplomacy ventures?'" Geordi repeated.

"Yeah- I'm kinda curious about that myself, Director." 

Hugh puffed his chest some, straightening his shoulders with a proud little hum. "Well. The Cooperation's and Reclamation Project's alliance with the Klingon Empire was not earned by xB pacifism, I can tell you _that,"_ Hugh alluded. "We earned it as any Klingon would earn both their honor and merit in the Empire's eyes, and as is expected _by_ their people and from our own Klingon xBs. It was, undoubtedly, the most... _rigorous_ political alliance we've had to work for," Hugh admitted, "and I do not like to harm others in any possible circumstance, so it was difficult for me on a personal level. I did not kill, I _could_ not- but we managed. We would hardly be where we're at now without that victory for unity's sake, and ah... allow me to allude; the long scar you may have seen under my left rib, Commander," Hugh teased, a smirk skirting his lips, "that was _not_ from a Reclamation Procedure."

As the imagination filled Geordi's mind-- _a bloodied, sweaty, gladiator-like Hugh, standing in the middle of a Klingon's coliseum-like arena and raising a d'k tahg above his head pulled out of his own abs while roaring in victory to a deafening Klingon crowd_ \-- the Commander's face flushed bright red, and a very familiar heat began to pool in his gut.

Oh, and Hugh was gonna have to start calling him 'Captain' soon?

 _You can't_ do _this to me right now you little shit--!_

Geordi cleared his throat, feeling both Hugh _and_ Torres watch him with widening grins.

"Well-- that's a very. _Inspiring_ story there, Director," Geordi tried to laugh off, "one I'd like to hear _more_ of, but-- we should probably, uh- go ahead and give the Admiral a call, right?"

"Agreed, Commander; very observant."

"Right." 

And as Geordi meandered towards his desk to put the request in for a subspace comm, he could practically feel Torres' eyes dart between him and his xB boyfriend.

"I wanna _watch_ you tell that story later, Director; he's gotta be there too, that's mandatory."

"Oh, I'd be _wonderfully_ happy to tell it to a just-as-wonderful audience."

"We've got confirmation of Janeway picking up," Geordi interrupted, trying to hide his flush. "Five seconds till connection." 

"No problem; _I'm_ not the one who needs to stop smiling and get that blush off his face, apparently."  
"She's right dear; you _do_ have some residual coloration on your--" 

And before Hugh and Torres could _continue_ to bully him, Admiral Janeway flipped onto the display, the three standing at attention in front of the window-made-video call.

 _"Captain, Commander,_ and _Director,"_ Janeway crooned from inside her office, _"don't you all look smiles and smirks tonight."_

Geordi, after the comment, did his best (and failed) to restrain a laugh despite his sore dimples. “Good evening, Admiral!” he offered, "don't mind us; we're just having a bit of fun where we can on this little starbase of ours."

 _“Good evening indeed,”_ she chimed. _“By the look of it, I assume everyone’s in one piece?”_

“Whole and fulfilled, Ma’am,” the Commander boasted. “The _Louise Michel_ docked two hours ago, Director Second Crosis is keeping the House of Koloth representatives pleased as bloodwine punch, and our distinguished photonics are happily managing their own diagnostics. I have Captain Torres to thank for her safe escorts, and my station co-manager for his ever-diligent work.”

_“I have grown to expect nothing less from you three. I notice the Doctor is absent; is he still-?”_

“Presently onboard Atlas, Admiral,” Hugh spoke up. “Both he and the Doctor are analyzing each others' stabilization matrixes to ensure easy download transfer between _Solstice,_ or to determine if he should utilize his holo-emitter instead. _Theta_ and _Iota_ are next, but Engineering Junction Five of Ten and her department are currently sweeping both Tactical Cubes to ensure their own functionalities.”

 _“Excellent. Captain Torres,”_ the Admiral chimed, _“I thank you and your crew again for escorting the Doctor and House of Koloth representatives.”_

“Our timing worked out well enough,” Torres sighed, hands from her hips crossing to fold over her chest. “Our pit stop to Qo’noS should be fun before coming back for the gala, anyway.” 

_“Try not to have too much fun without us, B’Elanna.”_

As Janeway was responding, the Captain rolled her tongue against her cheek, as if debating whether or not she should spit something out.

Evidently, she chose the latter.

“Kinda took some of that fun away for you, sorry to say.” 

_“Why, what--”_

Janeway’s brow furrowed and she looked to the Commander; Geordi, firming his lips and raising his brows to make a rather “angelic” smile as he looked up, watched with inner humor as the Admiral immediately read (and realized) what her old Chief Engineer had done. 

She scoffed a disappointed sigh. _“Really? Did you have to?”_

“Look, it was gonna bug me the entire time I was here,” Torres shot back. “That’s what _you_ get for not locking your PADD before leaving conference rooms.” 

_“Fine, fine,”_ The Admiral pained herself to say, _“I get it. If you're going to spit it out, I might as well too... Commander,"_ Janeway picked up, _"keep in mind that Clancy and I have not presented this promotion timetable to the council yet. She proposed it- tossed the idea that we send you the offer so we may convene once the Captain and Klingons were on their way, but no time like the present I suppose."_

> _"Who says the announcement won’t just come in a stuffy little document rather than someone getting to tell you?”_

Geordi was almost impressed with how accurate Torres’ earlier prediction was.

“If anything,” the Commander assured, “I’m grateful I had the chance to discuss it with both Captain Torres _and_ my station co-manager; not to mention I’m glad to know it now before you and Clancy say anything. _And,_ additionally, I'm glad to let _you_ know that I’ve _accepted_ a promotion to Captaincy _,_ ” Geordi confirmed with a bright tone and a point of his finger, “but with a few conditions. ...Thank you, by the way.”

 _“We felt five years was long enough since you’d last turned down the offer, Mr. La Forge,"_ Janeway offered with a faintly nostalgic smile. _"It’d been mused upon previously, but we wanted to respect your requested decision.”_

“Thank you, Admiral. Mars still weighs heavy on me, but time brings its own healing. Clarity, even.” 

He caught Hugh firming a smile at his choice of words, Janeway nodding in affirmation. _“So. What are your ‘conditions,’ Commander; this’ll be good to bring to the rest of the council before we finalize the proposal to them.”_

The Commander set his jaw and finalized his thoughts.

“Well, first and foremost," Geordi began," I want my promotion to be done _before_ the gala. Not _during_ it. We need every positive eye on what Starfleet is doing right now with the Reclamation Project, and we _don’t_ need to be overriding that with our own in-house ceremonies. My becoming Captain should _not_ outweigh the work that’s warranted it, sure, but right now that means I’d like the focus going onto the Reclamation Project. The work I’m _doing,_ and _will_ be doing, _as_ a Captain. Is that a deal?” 

It looked like Janeway was listening _and_ contemplating, if her furrowed brow and the hand on her chin were anything to go by. But her face of concentration lent itself a premonition of conflict; most certainly not from Janeway’s end, and a nod she gave him all but confirmed Geordi’s suspicions.

 _“I see your logic, La Forge. And I'd like to agree. But I believe... there’s a reason_ why _Clancy originally wanted to have it pinned for the gala,”_ she admitted, Torres resetting her shoulders and sighing, _“a problematic reason, to say the utmost least. And Director, as much as it pains me to admit... I believe you may suspect as to what that reason is.”_

So they _were_ using him then, Geordi thought bitterly. Using _his_ promotion as a distraction from their _own_ biases.

Typical Starfleet bureaucracy: good intent in action, but laced with gilded moral, societal superiority and feigned ignorance of the Other.

Geordi felt his face fall to mirror Torres’ discontentment, his eyes catching Hugh straighten his head and settle his jaw… 

_"Director?"_

Someone was looking for words, alright. 

“Well,” the xB cleared his throat, “I would... only hope that the xB _Admiral_ overseeing our Project would encourage her colleagues to explore _openness_ in this regard, and in the spirit of supposed exploration that Starfleet administration so often boasts of. In solidarity with my project co-manager, I request his _own_ requests, firstly, be observed and honored; for I would not like to see _him_ nor a _Captaincy_ role he’s shown complete competence for be _used_ as a rivaling spectacle. Of course, if any Admirals or attending personnel have any _questions_ or ‘extended queries’ about us... any and all attendees are welcome to do their readings, research- _educate_ themselves on what we've offered the Federation- or even speak _directly_ with the Project’s Executive Director,” he said coolly, “ _me_. For despite what they think, I am actually much _more_ than a 23 year-old Starfleet portrait on a PADD’s mission debrief with biochip tubing erupting from his cheek. ...I cannot currently speak for the Cooperation people, but I deduce they would be _somewhat disappointed_ if they knew Starfleet higher-ups align us with similar feelings we _ourselves_ hold towards our Oppressors. I can _also_ imagine they would not take kindly to one of the Federation’s allies _against_ our Oppressors be thought of with such trepidation, _much less_ considering the Consultation and therapeutic work the Reclamation Project offers Starfleet veterans. Trust me when I say that xBs very _quickly_ learned that we are some of the most forlorn people in the galaxy,” Hugh said bitterly, “but if the Starfleet personnel who have worked here for the past two months can rescind possibly former ill mindsets and respect us as _Liberated Individuals_ , then so too can those in higher offices. ...Admiral.” 

The Director paused for a swallow, Geordi and B’Elanna happy to allow the xB a platform.

“We must already fight for... so much in our lives, Admiral Janeway,” Hugh ended with, “if not our very lives _themselves_. I would like to believe you know this, and that you already know it well. ...Do not cause my people and I’s trust to falter in Starfleet, nor its capacity to care for us as something _else_ other a mere 'resource' to be utilized.”

A heavy weight settled in Geordi's heart for Hugh, and he wanted nothing more than to set his hand on the xB's shoulder and give it a firm grip.

Torres looked across Geordi and to Hugh; her expression was pleased, proud, and downright ‘strengthened’ at the Director’s frankness. 

“Well,” Torres crooned, turning back towards the conference UI, “looks like _you’re_ gonna have a lot to talk about with the council.”

 _“Don’t rub it in, B’Elanna. ...You’re both right,”_ Janeway sighed heavily with a nod. _“You’re right. Completely. I can only extend my own apologies that I did not immediately see the insensitivity of conflicting your ceremonies for my colleagues’ own comfort. La Forge, you have it on my word that your promotion will be your own; Hugh,”_ Janeway took another deep breath, _“The Reclamation Project, the Cooperation… you're utterly right. They deserve to be recognized. Seen as any other ally of the Federation. La Forge, as a fellow officer, I hope you can forgive my obliviousness, and my teetering towards wanting to keep Starfleet personnel complacent in their own bigotry.”_

Geordi firmed his lips. “Considering how quick it you are to acquiesce and accept that fault… and so long as I’m guaranteed you’ll reflect and _act_ on it, I’ll take it for now. I am a _little_ peeved, admittedly,” he told her, “on behalf of myself _and_ my station co-manager… but at least we snuffed this out before it got too far out of planning capabilities now. And that Clancy uh, _might_ want to think a little _longer_ on that kind of idea before she ever tries to slide something like _that_ into my messages.”

 _“I’ll make sure that she_ does, _gentlemen; even if I have to barge into her office myself and give her an earful.”_

Torres made an amused hum. “Wish I was there to see that.”

_“You just want me to be a rulebreaker again, Torres.”_

“I know you have the guts to _be_ one.”

The Admiral settled into a nostalgic grin at her desk.

 _“Well,”_ Janeway sighed, _“If I have to fly out there myself beforehand and do the endowment, I might as well do it. I don’t want to stay past my welcome on Atlas before or_ after _the festivities are done, but you’ll have something nice to show off during the gala. You alright having a small ceremony?”_

“I can rub it in Riker’s, Worf’s, and Crusher’s faces when they all get here,” Geordi affirmed, “and I’m quite alright with that- thank you, Ma’am. Think I got all the company I need right here, anyway.” 

“It would be wonderful to give you a prerequisite tour of our facilities before the events as well, Admiral,” Hugh offered. “As I’m certain you’ve read in our reports, progress is continuing quite efficiently here.”

 _“And I would be more than intrigued to finally see the interior of a_ _Cooperation Command Juggernaut_. _Regarding its spherical neighbor, however… if I may also check in as an ‘unofficial inquiry;’ our progress on this riddle,”_ Janeway pried, _“have you made any leeway yet?”_

“Captain Torres has been enlightening in some of her offered theories,” Geordi replied, “and Director Hugh has allocated what resources we have towards research. Nothing concrete yet, but we’re trying.” 

“I’ll see if I can’t wrangle any 'house legends' out of the Koloth representatives,” B’Elanna sighed. “Might take a hangover and a good punch or two, but I can get what I need.”

 _"I know you can. I do wish, however,”_ Janeway sighed, _“that your guest downstairs would be more willing to divulge what she knows.”_

“She is less of a 'guest,'” Hugh corrected, “and more of... well, she is the same as _any_ drone we pull from Atlas’ alcoves. Circumstances are different, of course, and her attitude is _certainly_ less than ‘charming-’ but I believe she speaks _somewhat_ truthfully when she says her accessible memory of what transpired was erased; ignorance to information-based knowledge is _not_ something a Queen would readily admit to anyone, much less someone like _myself_."

 _“You say ‘accessible’ memory, Director,”_ Janeway noted, _“is there a possibility that information could be recovered?”_

“It _is_ a possibility, but I cannot make any promises currently. It is a theory the Reclamation Project and I, in cooperation with Starfleet, shall nonetheless pursue.” 

_“I’ll take it over nothing; keep at it as best you’re able. Regarding your promotion, Mr. La Forge; provided I don’t run into any trouble along the way,”_ the Admiral resumed, _“I’ll be out there at_ least _4800 hours before the gala begins. Does that work for you?”_

“Fine by me, Admiral; and certainly more favorable than the original proposition.” 

_“Acknowledged. And, gentlemen… on behalf of Starfleet, biased minds the Federation may unfortunately house, and my own ignorance to insensitivity... I apologize once again."_

Geordi tightened his lips alongside Hugh.

"You're willing to listen. To acknowledge error, at least," La Forge allowed her. "You and Torres and I know that's not the easiest thing to do in Starfleet, sometimes." 

"Especially for Admirals."

_"Agreed. And I can't afford to be exempt from checks and balances, can I?"_

"You're leagues above Admiral _Paris_ , at least."

 _"Ohhh, wow Torres!"_ Janeway scoffed, almost perturbed that B'Elanna would even _invoke_ that name as Geordi laughed, _"such_ confidence _you have in me! Thank you!"_

Torres cocked an eyebrow with a knowing nod. “You’re lucky they’re so forgiving, Kat.” 

_“I’ll take it as an external perspective and accountability.”_

“As you should,” Torres quipped. And, with a grin, she threw a bone to the Admiral: “And heavens know _we_ put you through the wringer enough for seven years.”

Janeway recovered from B'Elanna's banter long enough to form a smile. “ _I’d be lying if I said I didn’t_ miss _that wringer sometimes, B’Elanna.”_

"Miss you too, Ma'am." 

And Janeway sat up with a replenished grin, her eyes darting between the three. _"So,"_ she sighed, _"Anything else I may do for you all before you tend to business?"_

"Nothing I could note currently, Admiral," Hugh spoke. "I am simply glad to see you've listened and taken our words into meaningful account; we will be much more thankful when actions follow those words on your end. Commander?" 

"Nothing my station co-manager hasn't already said eloquently enough. Captain Torres?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "My itinerary's good to go."

 _"Excellent. Commander, I'll inquire you by 0800 hours tomorrow for those 'other conditions' for your Captaincy in personal messaging, if that's alright,"_ Janeway assured Geordi, _"That'll give me the full list to present to Clancy when we meet next."  
_

"Good idea. Then if it's alright with you, we'll get back to work so you can as well."

_"Of course. Safe travels and circumstances to you all."_

And with a murmur of goodbyes, the call ended, Geordi sighing with the weight of the conversation as Hugh and B'Elanna collected themselves. 

"Y'see what being out in the middle of nowhere does to you?" B'Elanna teased. "Makes you confident. Bolder. My _own_ experiences aside... other officers I know wouldn't have even _mentioned_ that like you two did, so I-- appreciate seeing those guts. Setting your boundaries."

"You know xBs are an honest people, B'Elanna," Hugh reminded her, "almost to a fault."

"Almost _rude_ , you mean."

Geordi stifled a snort at Hugh's flat expression. "Regardless... everything I spoke was true, and it's only proper she hear that repeated- lest she herself forget our plights or struggles."

"Sometimes the best way through Starfleet bureaucracy like this is just... straight through it," B'Elanna sighed, "No dancing around it. Just call it what it is."

"The best things can be pretty refreshi--"

 _"Doctor to Captain Torres?"_ chimed the EMH's pleasant voice over a combadge chirp, _"come in, please."_

Torres papped her chest. "What's up, Doc."

 _"We're proceeding as planned here, but I was wondering if you had a moment to assist me in preparing my mobile emitter's setup aboard_ Solstice _before the hours tick by too fast? Atlas will be retiring to diagnostics soon, and I should like to do the same before work tomorrow."_

"It'll take about an hour, you got that?" 

_"I've 'got that' and more, B'Elanna."_

"Sounds good. Meet me in Transporter Bay 3 in a few; Torres out." Turning to the men, she asked: "That's enough time from here to when your dinner was supposed to be, right? The Koloth boys should be pretty tuckered out by that point, less rowdy and all--" 

"More than enough, Captain," Hugh assured. "We will see you in an hour for acquaintanceship between the Reclamation Project's staff, Starfleet's, and senior officers of the _Louise Michel."  
  
_ "Give me a call if you need any assistance setting any of the hardware up, but I think we've got everything prepped from the schematics you sent ahead of time." 

Torres firmed her smile and nodded. "Thanks."

Her eyes darted between them.   
And a split second later, she was chuckling and shaking her head at the station co-managers.

"History's a flat circle for me, isn't it," she mused openly, turning to head out of Geordi's Ready Room.

"I hope that's a good thing?" Geordi called after her.

"Oh, Commander," Torres called back, "I've seen _too many humans_ swept off their feet by xBs; too many!" she spoke before the doors wooshed open, "see ya for dinner!" 

Oh.  
Admiral Janeway and... Seven, right- they, onboard _Voyager_...

_B'Elanna saw where it all started, didn't she?_

Geordi's train of thought was interrupted, however, by the ghosting, then sliding, then serene sensation of Hugh's hand; the xB's touch ran down Geordi's hair from the back of his head, down his neck, around to his beard, then cusp his whole jaw to give him a rather deep kiss on the lips, the Commander _instantly_ remembering Hugh's flattery (and arousal) before Janeway was put on call.

"I noticed during our _earlier_ discussions that your internal temperature increased by 1.3 degrees and your adrenal levels spike in tandem," Hugh murmured. "Not to mention, on a much less _statistical_ level... you looked very charming."

Geordi's lips met Hugh's for a another famished kiss and called to the computer to engage enhanced privacy mode before he retorted: "First you look _this_ nice in diplomacy get-up, _then_ you surprise me by beating the shit out of Klingons; how do you _expect me_ to react to a story about you beating the shit out of even _more_ Klingons?"

The Director's tone was a touch lower than normal. "You flatter me, dear."

Heavens help him, that flipped-on huskiness in Hugh's voice could drive Geordi _nuts_ -

"I _better_ be flattering you, because you're doing a real nice job at doing that yourself."

"And what do you suppose we should _do_ about that flattery, Commander?" Hugh asked innocently, feeling the xB's hand run down his dress uniform's chest, "Oh, apologies- I should start utilizing 'Captain' now, shouldn't I."

"You've got a few weeks, honey." 

Geordi swallowed, however, catching a breath as his eyes darted over the xB and he absently licked his lips.

He had some ideas.

"Quickie?"   
The xB smirked. "'Quickie.'"   
"Thank you."  
"As long as it assists you in concretely determining how strong I can be?"  
"Yeah that's uh--" Geordi cleared his throat, "I... _may_ or may not have been wondering that--"

Hugh's eyebrows rose in tandem, his pleased expression froze... and his mouth shut again in a cat-like grin, turning to fully face Geordi as his cheeks darkened and the tips of his ears flared pink.

"Geordi," Hugh asked as calmly as possible, "Would you rest your arms on my shoulders and connect your hands behind my neck, please?" 

Tentatively, curiously, he did so. 

And suddenly, Hugh swept Geordi up to hold him by the legs, his Borg-given strength a shockingly good support and rebound for his center of gravity. The weight in Geordi's gut dropped from his throat to his stomach, down further, the Commander gasping and laughing at what just happened as Hugh adjusted his posture so his hands gripped the back of Geordi's thighs in support in a makeshift chair--

He really _was_ strong, wasn't he- and here Hugh was, still wearing that sleeveless dress shirt, Geordi's mouth suddenly going dry as his hands went to grip the xB's shoulders...

Was Geordi _really_ 56 years old and getting swept off his feet like this? Being picked up and held by his partner in a strong, loving embrace- like an old-fashioned, charmingly-programmed holonovel would? 

God yes, he was. 

And the Commander couldn't help but wonder if Data was proud of him, wherever the android's beautiful soul was- being happy like this again, but with someone else who adored him in his own, special way.

"Hope a Ready Room desk will suffice for now, Director."   
"As long as your _bed_ could be a follow-up to dinner."   
"Of course."   
"Thank you."  
"And before I compliment you _more_ ," Geordi hummed, leaning in to place another kiss on Hugh's lips, "you and Crosis looked so good out there." 

Hugh quirked his brow with a revitalized grin. "Speaking of my Director Second," the xB crooned, "have you taken him up on his offer yet, Geordi? He can be quite the pleasing man himself, if not moreso after his current 'workout'-"

The Commander's eyes widened with a swallow.

_Oh my God._

"You think he'd be alright with that? Tonight, I mean?"

"I do not like to speak for others," Hugh pointed out, "but cumulative behavior observation tells me he would; _especially_ after a rigorous physical expense like the ones he's embarked on tonight."

So Geordi pondered on something, pulling his hands up from Hugh's shoulders to cradle the sides of the xB's neck.

"Quickie _now_ ," La Forge offered, _"_ then invite Crosis _after_ dinner. Deal?"

"You continue to impress me with your schedule management, Mr. La Forge."

" _You're_ the one doing the 'impressing' here. Now come on," he chided, "make it so I have to _remember_ you every time I sit down at that piddly little desk of mine." 

Hugh's hands greedily tightened on Geordi's thighs. "Gladly." 

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 2, 2391]  
** **VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

Dinner for Commander La Forge went well, the post-dinner festivities went _far_ better, and the morning after seemed to be clicking right along with the Atlas Project's newest staffer.

It was back to business while the _Louise Michel_ held her temporary stay at _Solstice_ and the Project overall, staying only until the Command Juggernaut returned tomorrow from her monthly ferrying of freshly-reclaimed xBs to Ohniaka III. The senior team had three days until the Queen made her "autonomy debut," and Five was getting close in a breakthrough for their riddle-laden side project with Geordi's help. As a result, the Commander was content to lose himself in the frivolousness of conversation, programming design, and cordial conversations the photonics shared, Geordi smirking as he eavesdropped on them reviewing their xBSL.

“Ooo, no, wait, go back-- what was that word.” 

“Which one, Doctor?” 

“The one where-- no, before then. Back. Keep going, an-- ah yes, there, there we go- that one; what is it.” 

The edge of Geordi's sight watched Atlas’ hands repeat a motion, the xB hologram's eyes locking with EMH as he made a graceful, pulling apart motion, and one hand looped around a mimed cylinder shape.

“‘Conduit.’” 

“Ah," the Doctor hummed as he mimicked the sign, "thank you. The dictionary must have received an update since my last utilization of it. What version do you have installed?”

“1.15.3v2; updated 74 Ohniakan III days ago for incorporation of new Cooperation technologies and various species linguistic referrals to therein.” 

“May I access your copy of the dictionary while I am here?" the EMH asked politely. "I would rather not be ignorant to any personnel I might communicate with."

At this, Geordi caught Five _also_ looking up from her computer terminal across from him, the glint of a remnant cheek implant shining against the light of her screen with a raised and curious brow. 

To Geordi (and Five's) amusement, Atlas grinned; both factually, yet proudly.

"I _might_ house a larger amount of information compared to what you may be used to, Doctor," Atlas spoke evenly. " _Solstice_ has the file readily on-hand in typical Federation file formatting once you return for your mobile emitter's docking, if you would like to wait."

EMH scoffed in playful remark. "Hardly. Besides!, it's good for me to get out of my comfort zone of cushy, Federation programming; the warning is heartily appreciated, but if you are willing to share, I am quite ready." 

Atlas looked to EMH, and then to Geordi and Five- as if looking for some sort of administrative, fleshy approval of his colleague's boldness. 

"Well, don't look at _us_ ," Geordi humored as he shrugged his shoulders. "Junction Five and I've got our own circuitry, sure, but that doesn't mean we can speak for what you'd want to share; you're your own keepers."

"The Commander is correct," Five noted calmly. "And perhaps the EMH is also correct, Atlas; interacting with a program of an entirely different genesis point could, perhaps, offer further insight into how the Doctor operates. ...And vice versa." 

Atlas pondered Five's proposal, his striking eyes darting in between the EMH and the Junction. 

With a raise of his head, Atlas' vision shimmered, and he raised his palm behind him- as if to lead the Doctor past an invisible gate into a mighty, unseen palace. 

"Proceed to Memory Bank Subsection 4519: newest index V1.8."

The EMH offered his cohort a grin, nodding before resuming. "Thank you. This shouldn't take too long, I-- ohhh... oh my, uh-- this is- quite a lot you have here, I--"

Geordi paused, peering up from both his and Five's computer displays. "Uh... Doctor?"

Though the EMH turned to face Geordi at the sound of his name, the hologram's gaze was still fixed somewhat upwards, and the Commander saw that the Doctor's eyes were flickering with the same blackened sclera and cubically green irises of Atlas. 

_What was it like to see with those eyes, Geordi wondered?_

"AhhHAhaha-ahaha... y-yes, yes Commander, yes, just... one... moment--" 

Atlas watched him, a flat look on the xB's face as he set his hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "Allow me to _escort_ you, Doctor..."

A few moments later, the EMH forcefully cleared his throat, fluttering his eyes as they regained their usual coloration. He took a deep "breath" in, shaking his head some and bringing a smile back to his cheery, chiseled face, though there was a tinge of almost... what could Geordi call it; 'star-struck embarrassment?' The Commander and Junction, by this point, had paused their work and were watching the Doctor collect himself, Atlas just as keen to watch as he approached the stabilizing EMH. 

"Well," the Doctor mused, "that was... interesting." and with a nod to the other hologram, he added: "thank you."

"You feel alright, Doc?" The Commander offered with a wary smirk. "You had a bit of a shudder there in your imaging makeup..." 

"Yes, that's what-- merely _happens_ when a program like mine jumps head first into a library worth hundreds of billions of lives," the EMH spoke smoothly, sarcasm dripping from his prim and proper shudder. "You could call me a little... ' _overexcited_ ,' I suppose; though not to worry- I've been around my share of new interfaces and friends," he assured, "it's quite like crossing a river at this point." 

"'Crossing a river,' as I am aware," Atlas added, meandering towards and behind the Doctor, "can be a strenuous task without assistance or guidance; much less without someone at the other end of the rope."

"As long as you both know what you're doing," Geordi warned, "Five and I can't be at your beck and call for diagnostics sometimes. I will say, though; 'crossing that river' looks like it can be, a... bit of a thrill, too?"

"Imagine you've been plucked from the depths of a _cave_ and are suddenly dropped into the _Vulcan Science Institute's library,"_ the Doctor muttered. "I'd say I could spend roving inside somewhere like that for a very, very long time- lest I end up like the proverbial _dusty skeleton_ found in a fairy tale's too-good-to-be-true library." 

Even after all these years, EMH's skill for metaphor was impressive as it was charming.

"Well," Geordi mused, "let Atlas or Five or I know if you ever need a spelunker to indulge you, as it were."

EMH nodded. "Of course. Now, Atlas," the Doctor resumed, "let me ensure my usage is correct..." 

Geordi was pleased as punch to hear the two continue their LBSL conversation, resuming his own work with Five. After some time, his cybernetic eyes began to scan for whatever could be making one of Five's subroutines fluctuate in their computer displays, the two collaborating in their own programming languages. Building off what her screen submitted, he simulated another pattern, and Five's head tilted in enthrallment at the suddenly-green indicator for prototype construction.

"Thank you; rendering can proceed, Commander," Five announced. "I am ready to present my experiment hypothesis and its schematics to you."

“Alright,” Geordi commended, straightening his cracking back as he approached Five, "let's see what you've got."

Five beckoned her head to her computer terminal. "Observe." 

The shape that manifested was similar to EMH's mobile emitter, although with a noticeably-more Reclamation Project tech appearance to it. "For context's sake, I will firstly recount an incident that marks my 'inspiration' point for this device. The Doctor informed me of an occasion when, due to a false judicial policy placed upon Voyager's Delta Flyer and warranting a surprise capture, he downloaded himself into the xB Seven of Nine's cranial implants for safe and temporary ferrying." 

"Huh..." Geordi's eyes scanned over the blueprints, his free hand absently rubbing his beard. "Cranial implants can handle carrying that kind of program alongside their conscious processing?"

"Not for long, but yes. The Doctor was able to safely navigate back to Voyager within Seven's processors while acquiescing his holo-emitter for further examination, and his program went undetected."

It couldn't have been that easy _or_ mundane.   
He'd have to remember to try and wring the entire story out of the Doctor later.

For now, Geordi mulled on her words, the mind of an engineer beginning to fire on all pistons. "Remote storage of a holographic interface away from the hardware, then," the Commander followed along. "You're wanting to build essentially a... 21st century Terran 'USB stick' for Atlas, is it? And then let one of you interface back with the machinery itself again?" 

"Correct; or at least, unlock whatever so violently tried to consume V'evik. I believe, Commander," Five elaborated, "that what caused V'evik's poor interfacing was a protective subroutine the erasure of the data created. A 'recall,' if you will- to bring Atlas, the Sphere's base function AI, back to try and block or disrupt the intruder- both physically and mentally, from accessing any evidence of that research. Atlas is more than just a simple functionality AI now, obviously," she nodded in his direction, "which explains not only his duress, but also V'evik's."

"It would also explain why Atlas can't tell us much about what happened, or the information that Queen 127 erased. It would _also_ line up with what Director Hugh and I have been theorizing, actually," Geordi offered. "From what my research tells me, as does the Director's instinctive knowledge and experience: the Borg do not typically like to erase any kind of information, if they can help it. It goes against the Hivemind's very nature of collection, of assimilation; so what would be the intent to erase this? What causes something like that?"

Five nodded in confirmation, the faint tinge of amusement nipping at the xB's blossoming grin. 

"The Director has taught you very thoroughly about the intricacies of our Oppressor's instincts, Commander La Forge."

"What can I say," Geordi boasted, "we like teaching each other things."

Five tilted her head and raised her brow. "Is _that_ what non-xBs call it?"

Geordi winked while mouthing a 'shh' and a smirk.

And the human xB caught the very human fondness in the Commander's eyes.

"In any case," she continued, "you are correct again, Commander. This may be the Reclamation Project's first time onboard a former Borg vessel, but that does not coincide the..." she motioned her hands, "near _consumption_ of a drone like that; Reclaimed or Unreclaimed. So, my theory is," Five continued, "if we separate Atlas' core program temporarily, _completely_ from the physical hull itself, and allow ourselves to interface with the machinery..." 

"...Then maybe we could figure out what it was that set that particular access port off... _or_ see why the interface port activated that protective subroutine," Geordi followed, " _and_ also possibly discover the source of the tachyon/ionic disturbance still in that area; not to mention preserve Atlas' program as we explore that section of the sphere." 

The Commander's grin spread a little wider at the thrill of scientific pursuit. "Not bad, Five."

And he watched Five allow a tentative smile to creep onto her lips, her pleased features lit up by the holographic plans of her proposed device. "I only regret it has taken 25 days to adequately reach this hypothesis in between my other work." 

"Regret nothing on your end," Geordi assured her. "Something like this might take an entire _quarter_ for certain Starfleet department officers, considering the level of postulation here, much _less_ be able to offer their superiors physical schematics alongside their hypothesis. How confident are you to present this at the next Junction Division meeting?"

"Very confident. I could finalize the device's plans after Queen 127's bodily deployment, and have the device synthesized in less than 48 hours after Junction committee and Engineering division approval." 

"Sounds great to me," Geordi hummed, "Let's keep the meetings set inside the sphere's hull for now, just so Atlas can be present for the meetings as well." 

_“Medical Resource Junction Troval to EMH,”_ the Betazoid chimed over EMH's combadge, _“come in, Doctor?”_

The hologram smirked as he plapped his combadge, Geordi and Five looking back up from their workstations. “Please state the nature of the medical… well, hopefully it’s _not_ an emergency. What may I do for you, Troval?”

 _“Thankfully no emergency, but my team and I could use some assistance with extracting a faulty filtering augment in a Brunali liver,”_ Troval elaborated on the other line. _“Are you up for a challenge on your first day?”_

“A ‘challenge?’” he scoffed playfully, “I’ll be onboard Iota in three minutes; even _less_ if you continue to question my capabilities, Troval.”

 _“No promises,”_ she called, _“and no Starfleet scrubs! You’re going to get nanoprobes all over your bare holomatrix stabilizer field if you don’t initiate that wardrobe file I gave you.”_

"How cruel of you, removing my handsome blues. I will be there within five minutes, Troval; EMH over and out." 

EMH looked back up, noticing he had an expectant audience of three.

“Well,” the Doctor sighed, “I should change into something more appropriate then, shouldn’t I?”

“I did not realize Junction Troval could be so… ‘humorous,’” Five settled on, “with fellow medical service members. Though from my experience, she’s certainly familiar with sarcasm towards their own patients.” 

“I have known Troval for 13 years, Junction Five,” EMH commented playfully, “and believe me when I tell you that their Betazoid empathy, as a Doctor, is _finely tuned_ for sarcasm.”

As the Doctor spoke, he slowly raised his hands up to his shoulders’ height as if preparing for some grand bravado, smirking before they reached their full height. With a quick swipe downwards, his holomatrix shimmered and wafted into a Reclamation Project's Medical Division smock and vest, bright teal gloves and a cubical badge shimmering where a triangular Starfleet delta once rested. Geordi found himself grinning alongside Five as Atlas watched with intrigue, the Doctor looking quite pleased with himself as he adjusted his unique Reclamation Project harness.

"Apologies for abandoning my Starfleet uniform, Sir," he told Geordi, "but at I believe you'll find me 'dressed up for the ball.'"

Geordi smirked, eyeing both the Doctor's apparel and bravado. “No mask?” 

“I don’t technically _need_ one since I have no _breath_ to filter, Commander La Forge,” the Doctor pointed out, “but I still 'wear it' nonetheless once I am on-site. Operating team solidarity, after all.”

“A good and fair courtesy. Can I head with you to this deck’s transporter pad, actually? Five, I'll look over the details of your schematics in my Ready Room,” he told her, “thank you for your assistance today.” 

“Thank you, Commander. I will continue my work with Atlas for the remainder of my shift and update him of my findings and your approval.” 

Atlas nodded after Five with his captivating, cubical stare. "We wish you well, Commander- Doctor." 

"The pleasure is all ours," EMH declared.

And as the two meandered down a corridor to the backlit atmosphere of Atlas' hull, Geordi and the EMH allowed a silence to hang before the hologram's boisterousness broke the silence. “Seems like you and Five had a productive day.”

“We’ve been working on this for a few weeks now,” he sighed, “I’ll be thankful if we can get anything up and running at this point. But Five's got a solid thesis that I'm more than happy to sponsor, and I'm grateful Atlas seems willing to cooperate," Geordi mused, "considering he's been grappling with the very idea of _personhood_ in the span of two months and some days." 

"Holographic programs are full of their own surprises, Commander."

"You would know, wouldn't you." 

"That and more. If anything," the Doctor continued, "I'm surprised _you_ haven't inquired further into my accessing of Atlas' internal libraries." 

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least _curious_ ,” Geordi admitted. “You feel alright after all that? Earlier you looked a little," he tapped the underside of his eye socket, "ah--” 

“Oh, nonono- I feel quite alright actually, Commander,” the EMH insisted, “though I appreciate you asking about my _cognitive_ condition rather than just pursuing a 'factual' debriefing. Unsurprisingly, given my history, I've had to interface in some form or another with a _number_ of Borg-adjacent programming and neural links over the years. _This_ experience was just a bit… ‘closer to home,’ I suppose you could call it, considering Atlas' very _nature_ as a germinating, self-aware program," the EMH conceded. "Though I _will_ be running some diagnostics before I enter into standby aboard Solstice.”

A stirred yearning caused Geordi to mull on his next words. 

"I envy that sometimes, as an engineer," the Commander mused, "how you're able to glimpse that. Envious as a designer too I guess, but-- being able to see how they do? Experience how their minds work post-severance, even for the faintest of moments? I mean-- you, I, other non-xB staff are watching it happen from an outside perspective as dormant drones are reclaimed, sure, but... I dunno. It might sound strange, but I can't help but wonder." 

"Not strange at all, Commander," the Doctor assured him. "There are a great deal of _organic_ experiences I find myself endlessly curious about; not the _same_ circumstances, granted, but I believe I understand you somewhat. If anything, I have... well, I've _known_ people who've had their brushes with the Collective in such fleeting manners," he told Geordi, "or even disconnected drones establishing links with each _other_. Not former Borg that are within Ohniaka III's and the Reclamation Project's realms, mind you; rather, people who are far, far away in the depths of the Delta Quadrant... severed xBs, _people,_ trying to forge their own paths, and live their own lives post-Collective. Since my transfer approval here, I-- catch my subroutines, my _subconscious-_ sparing more and more thoughts for them. I wonder how they are- what the Cooperative would think of them, and vice versa. It seems, Commander La Forge... I have found absence makes the heart grow fonder, if not more _reflective,_ based on circumstance."

Geordi felt a spark of curiosity flicker through him. "You talk about them in such a wistful tone, Doctor," he noted.

The Doctor smiled some. "Mm- I suppose I do, don't I. I believe my cause for vocal endearment is because I am able to recall how said people _acted_ when they informed me of their experiences," he pointed out. "Despite their varying circumstances for connection or takeaways _based_ on those circumstances... they all express one common factor to me, Commander La Forge. Nostalgia." 

"'Nostalgia?'" 

"For what they had been," the hologram elaborated, "or what they had _felt_. From what I am told, Commander, it is an experience unlike any other. To see oneself wholly immersed in another, _becoming_ that other person and the other becoming _you_ , or even simply _brushing_ what information the Collective hoards? I saw it a number of times in the Delta Quadrant. I saw it again today, even for a flicker of a moment. I not only marvel at it, but I fear it. Perhaps I am a _cat_ and one day curiosity will get the best of _me_ , who knows," he humored, "but... I believe I at least understand the _amazement_ of it all. The assurance in being filled with another presence. Loneliness makes desperate men out of us all," he remarked, "and the Collective, from what I hear, has an intoxicating safety in their blind stasis. The, ah, pure knowledge and _erasure of autonomy_ by the Hivemind's hand aside... to connect with someone in such a way so wholly? So utterly? Pah-- I'll not get into details of his experience, but even my at-time Commander Chakotay's words describing his neural transceiver link condition... his report has stayed with me, long after after all these years as I continue to work with xBs. I do not hold it against any former Borg who misses the safety of the Collective," EMH finished, "and I admire their bravery all the more- venturing out into that wide, unknown world to form their own 'Collectives' despite it."

A powerful ache suddenly filled Geordi's chest as he reflexively swallowed, pondering the Doctor's implications.

What _was_ it like, he had to wonder? To come from an entity so filling, and then be abandoned to fend for yourself in an immeasurably huge world? How valuable, how _treasured_ would self-made connections be in comparison- how precious would every friendship, every _relationship_ be in the face of that loneliness? It was awe striking, Geordi thought, how often he could broach this topic from different angles and varying perspectives, only to find it just as fascinating as the first time he'd ever considered it- ever since he offered a certain Borg drone his new name.

He had to remember to ask Hugh if he knew anything about this "neural transceiver link." 

Maybe the Doctor noticed his lack of words, Geordi realized sheepishly; for he smiled, keeping in pace and picking up where he left off with the Commander as they absently walked towards the transporter bay.

"It is quite good, by the way," EMH resumed, "seeing you and Hugh together again, after all these years. The memories from my time aboard the _Keter_ are still some of my proudest medical achievements." 

The Commander grinned some at the "together" comment. "I'm glad to hear," he agreed, "considering Reconstitution hinges a lot on what you and your team did."

"We did what we felt we had to," the Doctor sighed. "It is... unfortunate at times, remembering Starfleet's attitude in 2378. Understandable, perhaps, considering what the Borg had attempted against... ohhh, only the _Temporal Directive_ and all _non-assimilated peoples in the galaxy_ ," he sneered, "but... that resentment should not have come at the expense of the xBs' very livelihood, Commander. Not to them, at the very least." 

"You said it best, Doc," Geordi offered, "they're some of the bravest of us. I just wish my crew at the time could've helped more."

"If I may say, Mr. La Forge," the hologram offered, "yours and Mr. Data's healing presence for my at-time patient was _more_ than enough help."

Geordi managed a smile.

"Thank you."

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 3, 2391]  
VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER 0013, L.B.V. 'COMMAND JUGGERNAUT'**

While Hugh never liked the idea of "playing favorites," over the years he'd found that the first-severed drones of any Reclamation Project-touched site had their own unique attributes to them. With Cube 5219, it was Hugh himself who sparked individuality into that Borg ship, and undoubtedly changed the fate of those tossed aside from the Collective forever. With Five (and Two) of Ten in 2386, the humans were bonded from the start; not only pulled from the same unit, but the same ship, the same _battle_ they were taken from and forced to fight against- today, they were bonded in adoration, kinship, and love, Five's own engineering brilliance lending her aid to the Atlas Project, and Two's tactical willingness to assist the Reclamation Project overall. And dear V'evik- from the Vulcan Science Institute Outpost Reclamation of 2383; they now served here, as the Cyberneticist Junction lead, and Hugh couldn't be more proud of the fine individual they were blossoming into- strange nosebleeds notwithstanding. 

Nowhere, then, did this trait seem more consistent than with Third of Eight: the first pulled from Atlas' figurative ribs- now known as 'Hyades,' and all the more beautiful to see her so fondly looking out over the Command Juggernaut's inner chamber.

A selfish part of individuality suggested Hugh should be _jealous_ of drones proceeding his Progenitor "generation." It tempted him to rue the fact they had it so "easy," that they had _guides,_ unlike he and Cube 5219's company- their ship falling from the heavens with unguided abandonment, stumbling for so long in the ignorant dark as augments fell both naturally and painfully from their weary bodies. But Hugh learned long ago to shove that selfish spark aside in favor of the heartfelt, beautiful, _captivating_ sight of seeing xBs reclaimed from the Collective- that his _own_ Collective's pain could help pave the way for drones in crisis or confusion, and they could germinate the empathy needed to conquer the emptiness left behind by the Hivemind's absence of safety and consumption. The Director and his kin decided it was much better to see a drone happy, peaceful, and willingly share that empathy, rather than force that unbearable loneliness on their poor souls...

Perhaps, then, that desire to connect is what drew Hyades back to Atlas for yet a _second_ time, causing the Director to visit the freshly-returned Command Juggernaut.

It took his mind off the sadness of saying goodbye to Captain Torres earlier that day, _and_ the work he'd be attending to for finishing Queen 127's body.

Typically, xBs were ferried back to Ohniaka III aboard the Command Juggernaut once a month for further integration and medical assistance on Ohniaka III; as Hugh was informed by administrative personnel, however, Hyades chose to remain aboard the Juggernaut not once, but _twice_ , seemingly unable to pry herself from both the sight of Atlas and the Reclamation Project staff that once cared for her. Even two months after their initial, panicked encounter, she was a far cry from the drone she once was; an Wysanti who carried gentle eyes underneath the left half of cranial exo-plating, her formerly damaged leg replaced by the Cybernetics Division's masterful prosthetic work, once-reddened scars from reclamation procedures beginning to darken and congeal to form that beautifully-repaired person. She chose her own pronouns, her own _name_ after Crosis' Consultations, the hulk of a man reading old Greek mythos with Hyades to ease, enrich, and refill her post-severance mind. Hugh's dear friend was his own master for the Consultation Division's demands, but Hugh wanted to see Hyades himself after hearing of her return, the Director grinning at seeing the silver augments that still dotted her throat, her forearm and left hand, a blue cybernetic eye like his contrasting an organic brown one against the soft, short locks of orange hair...

Hugh wondered what kind of person time would ripen her into.

"Welcome back," Hugh greeted gently, the xB turning her attention to him away from the view, "may I interrupt your sightseeing for an indulgent visit, Hyades?"

Her jaw quivered before a reply formed on her tongue. "Hugh," she said. "What do you require?"

"Nothing," Hugh affirmed, "other than your presence. It is good to see you, Hyades." 

It was beneficial to naturally reuse new xBs' chose names often in casual conversation, the Reclamation Project had discovered. It not only reaffirmed their new designation, their new _name,_ but in that path towards a new identity... reinforcement (and reiteration) was found to certainly help their march forward into Clarity's unfamiliar, yet eventually warm, embrace.

Especially considering remembering her panicked words upon their first meeting- begging to have her own name reinforced after the horrid purgatory of silence and solitude.

"Hugh," she repeated.  
"Yes."   
"It is... I--"

She swallowed. "There are many words by which to describe this encounter. 'Good,' by definition, I deem paltry, but it is... 'good' to see you too, Hugh-" 

Hugh's heart swelled so terribly, lovingly, _beautifully_ for his people.

“As it is you. Your new leg has been functioning efficiently?”

“Yes,” Hyades confirmed. “Cyberneticist Junction V’evik and their department have been knowledgeable in servicing my augmentations and new prosthetic.”

“I am glad to hear this," Hugh said. "I know you have returned, but- did you visit Ohniaka III's surface this time? If you did not, Hyades, that is equally fine, but I am 'curious' to hear how your recent visit went before returning to the Atlas Project.”

Hugh allowed a long silence to hang as Hyades, no doubt, strove through her still-developing self- to decide on what to say next.

“There are… many answers to that query,” Hyades spoke. “Which, where… _how_ do I choose where to start in my descriptions?”

“Start like we all do,” Hugh told her, “from your beginning. Wherever that may be, Hyades.”

She puzzled over this. “'The beginning'…”

The xB resumed. “I. _Did_. Go to the planet's surface. On a Borg ship, Hugh, you know, you _know,_ there are not as many... _colors_ as there were on Ohniaka III. The atmosphere, the sky," she remarked, "an oxygen-nitrogen mixture and refracting of the desert-like climate causes the typically cumulonimbus clouds to appear..." she rolled her jaw, "large. Captivating. I remember... descending in our shuttle. It was 1832 hours in the Cooperation Capitol. Sunset, 48 days into the planet's equivalent of a 'spring' cycle. The sunset... against the Cooperation's architecture, and its naturally-occurring geography..."

She struggled for words. 

"It was beautiful." 

And an answer like that from a freshly-Reclaimed xB always managed to quash whatever selfishness Hugh's bitter memories of the past may have tried to cling to. 

"I want to tell Director Second Crosis about it. It was... just now, I--" she continued, "repeating this instance to you... just as Director Second Crosis speaks to me, and I speak to him, I find it. Helps. Organize my own dictation. Verbalizations, to these experiences." 

Hugh smiled. "I'm certain he will be enthused to listen. My friend has always been very good at that, and it so happens he is a good listener." 

"That is what we did, before," she pointed out as her eyes locked with his, "it is _all_ we did, I am realizing. Listen." 

"You are correct. And now you speak for yourself." 

"It is intimidating." 

"And yet you are brave for doing such an intimidating thing." 

Hyades swallowed.  
Her face twitched, as if remembering how to try and form a proper grin.

Hugh took comfort in the fact that she, like all of them, was starting from her beginning.

"If I may ask, Hyades," Hugh said gently, "what brought you back to us again? To the Project's site, rather than staying on Ohniaka III?"

Her eyes wandered back out towards the Juggernaut's cavernous hull. "I wanted to watch... us. Them. It caused a physical pain to formulate the concept of... departing, when I had not seen this Collective, this--" she shook her head, "this... these, people, 'xBs,' still here. And I was the 'first,' as you have told me."

"You are not _them_ anymore," Hugh tried to offer her, "but they are your 'Collective,' in a way. You care."

She nodded.

"I believe I can empathize," he spoke softly. "Cube 5219 was my own home. _I_ was awakening, but my connection to them was still heartfelt, even if I did not have that word at the time. And even in that... very dark place, I was concerned for the others, I--"

"We remember," she spoke. 

Of course she did.   
Of course they _all_ did- that brief spark of life, of personhood, of singularity.

And it was a weight Hugh would have to carry every day of his singular life.

“But they are our 'Collective unit,' yes,” the former drone went on, nodding with him and enthusiasm skirting her face. “And after this unit's severance, we remember Queen 127, we could not--”

In her excitement, Hyades stopped, suddenly; hyper-aware of the pronouns, the terms she had been using for herself. Her face locked up and posture began to stiffen as she looked out over the Juggernaut’s expanse, her blue-and-brown eyes wavering as her jaw followed suit…

“That is… not-- correct,” she managed. “I should not be _making_ this mistake any longer. _I--”_

Hugh’s hand instantly, yet very carefully, moved to rest over the back of Hyades’ palm that was gripping the catwalk railing.

Hyades took Hugh’s invitation, holding his hand as tightly as she would an anchor keeping her bound in that spot.

And an familiar pain wormed in Hugh's chest, the Director allowing her to hold his hand- for as long (and as tightly) as she wanted to. 

“Hyades,” the Director spoke, “you have _nothing_ to apologize to me for. It took me months- _years_ of catching, correcting even _myself_ when clarity came to me. I assure you when I say... you are _not_ the only one who does this. It is hardly instantaneous for us.” 

“I wish it _was,”_ she wavered bitterly. “I wish it did not feel so,” she faltered, visibly struggling for a word, “...’bad,’ each time I fail in this area of speech.”

“You do not ‘fail,’” Hugh told her, “and the Reclamation Project offers you its support should you need to negate those feelings. If anything, I- _admire_ you for your recognition of it, Hyades. Your drive to push yourself _towards_ what you want. Of _who_ you want to be, and correct yourself for- the ‘you’ you continue to _strive_ towards. The dedication to that is... _much_ more valuable than any happenstance of stumbling you may have along the way. We all stumble, certainly, but it is how we progress that’s what matters. How we further ourselves. And you are quite incredible for doing that now.”

Hyades was quiet, the Director allowing Hyades to do with his hand whatever she liked. Finally, he heard her straighten against the catwalk, felt the grip on his hand lessen ever the slightest... and Hyades sighed, turning from the expanse down to Hugh. 

“I am finding you are a valued resource to compare my situations to, Hugh,” Hyades steadied herself in. “You are… ‘wise.’”

He felt his cheeks dimple from flattery. “‘Experienced,’ more like; I find I still learn new things every day. But thank you, Hyades,” Hugh allowed himself, “I hope you, all 2,963 of you from Atlas, can--” 

“Incorrect,” Hyades repeated.

Hugh furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” 

“A count of 2,963 survivors is incorrect if you scanned living, dormant drones, Executive Director. You must account for a possible 2,966.”

And a strange weight of confusion, puzzlement, and concern suddenly began to make itself known in Hugh’s gut.

“That’s,” Hugh murmured, “2,963 _is_ the... number of dormant drones we scanned that indicated life signs after your drop out of the wormhole. It- _excluded_ any and all dead from the surroundings and interior, why do you say three extra--”

“After I returned to my alcove, yes,” Hyades agreed, “I saw how many were still dormant; 2,963. But I remember three more.”

“The… 'other, three?' Hyades, I-- must admit, I-- do not know what you’re talking about--”

There were _three more_ ,” she stressed, squeezing his hand again. “Until Junction V’evik found me, I knew 2,366 were onboard the sphere. --Atlas. I _know_ there were. The other three, if you did not count them… they are somewhere, Hugh. Director, _Executive_ Director--” 

“N-no no, that's... fine, please," Hugh tried to laugh, "Hugh is enough, Hyades... but tell me," he followed gently, "Were they lost on the original host cube? Or the sphere?”

“The sphere. I believe I was still connected when she erased our circumstantial data, but I was severed from my injury when they were. Taken. Somewhere?”

“But not somewhere outside the _sp_ _here,”_ Hugh tried to follow.

“No. They had to stay here. They could not leave before whatever it was that happened.”

“Do you think they survived until your arrival in this time, at least?”

Hyades stared absently out to the Command Juggernaut's core. “I cannot say for sure. But I think that… we would not have arrived here if _they_ did not survive, even if only briefly. I... wish I knew what happened,” she stressed, "how we _got_ here... all I remember is the lightning. The flash. I remember no technical details, she took that away, I--" 

> _[Lightning?]_   
>  _[A flash?]_   
>  _[What were they doing]  
>  [What did they require three drones for?]_   
>  _[Species 8472?]_   
>  _[Or the Borg themselves]_   
>  _[Experimenting?]_

"Speak of it only if you want to," Hugh urged her as he pulled himself from his own thoughts, "please. Your mind is worth more than chasing this knowledge for now. It will come to you. You are already so brave," Hugh told her, "being here with us as you are." 

She was silent.  
Her hand was shaking in his casual grasp.   
So Hugh turned to face her fully, his other hand joining the other over hers, cradling and cusping Hyades' hand with his own worn palms...

And attempting to bring her back from that crushing mental vastness that teetered on anxiety's deafening shores, Hugh tried to teach Atlas' first xB how deeply-loved the intent of touch meant to his, to her, to _their-_ people.

“I promise you we will do our best to find them. ... _If_ , we do find these three,” Hugh alluded, “and you are still here… do you want to be notified of their reactivation? Even come and see them?” 

“Yes-” Hyades said suddenly. “Yes. I-- know they were. Separated, around the same time as I was. Before. But she separated them on _purpose_ , instead of how I was severed, and that causes me much-- discomfort. To think they were alone like I was, too.”

So instead, Hugh gave a tired grin. “You, I, the others…"

"xBs?"

Hugh's grin grew into a smile. "Yes. We are resilient.”

“Yes,” Hyades agreed with a timid nod. “It seems that is true.”

And it seemed as if this resilient people had some further exploring to do.

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 4, 2391]  
SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE "SP-4852 SOLSTICE"   
STATION COMMANDER QUARTERS**

"You're quiet tonight."

"Mm."

"Just thinking?"

Geordi felt Hugh rest his head further into the crook of his neck, crumpling the fabric of Geordi's command uniform.  
The Commander, in turn, resettled his hand and ran a thumb over Hugh's shoulder, happy to bask in the company of his common area's couch.

"Yes." 

That _itself,_ the ability to _think freely_ for himself- was a far cry from what Hugh was beginning to do 23 years ago onboard the _Enterprise-D_. 

And tomorrow, that same drone was going to be watching a former Borg Queen take her first, autonomous, "free thinking" steps.

To say the Commander and the Director _needed_ a relaxing night in together- a night complimented by some drinks and watching alunar sunset- would be an understatement for their nerves.

“I think I get it,” Geordi allowed him. “I think if _I_ was in your position, I’d be a little nervous about tomorrow, too. ...I mean I-- _am_ nervous, but-- I think you’ve got different reasons for it.” 

Hugh grinned. “You are doing a wonderful job attempting to offer a sort of 'peace.' I... regret I cannot offer you the same.”

“Don’t sell yourself short on that, hun,” Geordi hummed. "You sharing a Samarian Sunset with me is doing a just-as-wonderful job, if I may say."

He took Hugh's quiet chuckle as a sweet little agreement.

And Geordi would take that any day, honestly; for Hugh's laugh was as sweet as honey, and just as fresh as a summer rain in San Francisco.

"I only wish we could've shared one with Captain Torres before she and the _Louise Michel_ left." 

"She'll be back here at the end of the month," Geordi offered, "and you can have all the sunsets you want with her." 

Hugh hummed as he raised his glass to the golden window, "Oh- but I'm having such a lovely one with you right now, dear; that is an unfair parameter..." 

Sweet _as_ honey; more like sweeter _than_ honey, he thought.

And their shared silence returned as calm tried to blanket their worries. 

"How was the Queen this evening?" Geordi asked gently. "You didn't ask her about--"

"No," Hugh said with a shake to his head, "No, not yet. Not before tomorrow. We have time- I will wait to broach the topic when she is in a more stable situation. But she was... you will read it in my report, eventually," the xB started, "and admittedly I would be _much_ happier reviewing Crosis' reports regarding his conversations with Hyades- maybe even sitting _in_ with them during some of their talks, but I..."

If the silence was anything to go by, Hugh went looking for words again by which to describe it.

“Geordi,” the xB murmured after a while, “before I answer that, may I ask you something somewhat ‘morose,’ regarding humans?’”

“I’ll try and offer what I can.”

He heard Hugh let out a long, quiet breath.

“You, humans… do you fear death? Or do you fear the idea, and- implications, the _ramifications_ of it- moreso than the actual _event?_ I'm, certain this is something I could _eventually_ conclude if I downloaded humans burial and funeral customs, but I-- wanted to hear you discuss it first.” 

Geordi swallowed, his eyes boggling some as he faced the immensity of that question.   
Well then.

“You weren’t kidding when you said ‘morose.’”

“I value my selection of words very highly; you know I would not choose such a label so easily.” 

"Can I ask what made _you_ ask that?" Geordi wondered. "You don't... think the Queen will try and--"

"No," he assured, "or at least; I _hope_ not. But it is... hard to escape the thought, the _subject,_ " Hugh said, "when she has alluded to the topic so many times. I want to associate her with a life past the other Queens' indoctrination, just as we made our own lives after the Collective. Maybe the inability to hypothesize that, it's- maybe it's my own ignorance? My own- inability to vocalize my emotions? I..."

Hugh fell silent. 

Geordi scooched closer to him, readjusting his grip on the xB's shoulder as Hugh hooked his legs over his.

"She frightens me. But I think she, too, is frightened of herself."

"Dying in a way, then," Geordi concluded. "Dying to what she once was." 

And while this was something he might never fully understand, Geordi felt like he could infinitely stand to sympathize with.

“I think… and this probably isn’t gonna help you a whole lot," Geordi offered, "but I just think it _varies_ from person to person; depending on their own circumstances. Some people are... _alright_ with dying. They’ve made their peace, are happy with their lives- come what may, even if they have some regrets. Nothing's gonna change the inevitable, right? And then some people are... _terrified_ of it. Scared of the idea that they just won’t… exist anymore; not be able to do all the things they wanted to. I've seen that terror on new ensigns' faces. Seen it in allies, enemies, people opposite my phaser or people blown across engineering terminals... Some might actually have... I dunno- unfinished business, people they care about they don’t wanna leave behind after they're gone. _That_ idea is a little terrifying- the thought that something could happen and it’d-- snuff you out, just like that. But I think for the ‘implication’ thing, that’s…” 

Geordi swallowed again, resting his head further on the xB’s. “I’m a widow from experience, Hugh. And that… that hurts. Because _I’m_ still here, and he’s not. I had to watch bits and pieces of him fly by, and the last time I saw him he _knew_ he was leaving me. We both knew, and it was still just as hard. Sometimes people are ‘lucky,’ for as much as you wanna call that luck; lucky they get to go together and don’t have to adjust to life without the other. Have a clean funeral, even have a burial plot to go back to. But sometimes people, they...”

Geordi’s heart felt heavy. 

“Some of us don’t get to go together.”

_I hope you're proud of me, Data._

The Commander, very thickly, swallowed.

“And it’s _very_ patient people like you,” Geordi continued in a quiet voice, “who help people like _me_ pick up the pieces of what’s been left behind.” 

Geordi felt Hugh shift his head and look up to him, the Commander managing a shaky laugh. "Sorry," he said, sniffing and wiping at the underside of his eyes. "This was supposed to be a response to _your_ question, not me thinking about my _own_ experiences. Or just-- projecting, I guess." 

"No," Hugh told him. "I feel that is an answer in itself, Geordi. Thank you. ...As always," the xB continued, "I am thankful you had him." 

"Me too." 

"I'm sorry if I have resurfaced any unfavorable memories." 

"I told you it was alright to ask me," Geordi assured him, "don't worry. I've got _some_ not-so-great ones, but-- but we had too many good years together that _very_ much outweigh the not-so-great stuff."

Hugh allowed a pause to hang.

“For everything that you’ve said,” the xB spoke quietly, “I am glad you’re here, Geordi. That I may be a part of you being here. I... do not know what is going to happen tomorrow. I _want_ everything to go well, to _go_ as safe as possible," Hugh repeated, "but I... I sense something in her. I am-- having trouble vocalizing it, Geordi, but it is _deeper_ than the definition of 'sympathy.' It is, I..."

"You're an empathetic man, Hugh," Geordi enforced. "I can't speak for xBs, just as you can't, but... something tells me you know better than _anyone_ what it's like to be the first of something ever separated from what they knew." 

Hugh smiled. "You are correct, somewhat." 

And Geordi relished in the shared warmth of silence in cushy lounger's seat.

After an unknown while (and one that almost put Geordi to sleep), Hugh's head stirred against his chest.

"It is late," he murmured, "I should retire to my quarters for an adequate-enough regeneration, considering the mental effort tomorrow may take."

Geordi yawned. “Can I walk you back?”

“Of course; I will be spending some time with Crosis before this evening’s regeneration, if he is 'awake'- but I will be thankful for your company.”

While Hugh spoke, Geordi stretched,... and slowly, sleepily, he wound his arms around the xB with a cooing hum and an "of cooooourse!," Hugh laughing groggily at the gesture and returning it by going limp with a kiss to Geordi's cheek.

Like hell Geordi would let Hugh go back not _somewhat_ relieved and less anxious for tomorrow. 

So, taking their time to wander through _Solstice’s_ halls, the two arrived at the Director’s quarters and bade each other goodnight with a tight hug, Geordi giving a quick smooch to the xB’s temple and taking in the scent of his hair before they separated. It was always the hardest part, Geordi decided, watching Hugh go back on his own; Geordi marveled at his younger self and wondered how he did it for so many years onboard the _Enterprise-D_ , when he’d watch Data slip into his quarters and the aura of Spot emerge from her cat-tree to bid her android hello. The ache of wanting to trot after Data and just... talk to him, watch him perform his nightly routine, stay in his presence until... what? An older Geordi as Hugh's door wooshed to a close in his face knew this was the want of the heart, that what his younger self felt was _love_ and _adoration_ for the android, even if he was too ignorant (or too hesitant) of his own sexuality to realize it. The Academy was different; San Francisco was full of fresh-faced, bright-eyed cadets looking for a good time and reveling in who they were... but oh, how different love was; the idea of being _known_ for who you loved rather than fleeting satisfaction...

But even on the walk back to his quarters, during a sonic shower, and eventual donning of an evening robe to mull over a weathered optical augment given to him when sleep wouldn't come to him... Geordi knew that he hadn't lied to Hugh. 

He and Data had too many good years -in all friendship, as lovers, and as husbands- for Geordi to ruminate on the past, or lose sleep for what he should've done instead.

The transparent material of Hugh's optical augment caught a flash of yellow in Geordi's quarters lighting.

Then black.

Grey. 

Then a similar color to the silver-gold shimmer of a late 2370's combadge.

And the Commander's memories took him to a turbolift aboard the _USS Keter._

> “You seem nervous for this encounter, Geordi.”
> 
> “We haven’t seen the guy or his friends for ten years,” Geordi quipped in the turbolift, “and the circumstances weren’t exactly the best when we did last see him.”
> 
> "You are correct,” Data agreed. “I will sympathize when I say my behavior at the time is rather... displeasing to recollect, especially considering he stopped Lore from attempting to murder me. I must admit, I am still perplexed as to why Hugh included me in this requested visitation.”
> 
> “Oh, I think given the context of everything, I wouldn’t say I’m too surprised,” Geordi crooned. “Something tells me if he could change this much, he’s looking forward to seeing you in a better light, too. The EMH seemed excited enough for both of us.” 
> 
> "I see the logic in both your deductions, Geordi.”
> 
> Data paused.
> 
> “But I sense, also, that... your nervousness is more than that. And I do not need to activate my emotion chip to deem such.”
> 
> God, Data could read him so easily sometimes.
> 
> “Less ‘nervous,’” Geordi sighed, “and more… well, I dunno what to expect. I’m happy to hear this operation was a success, but it’s just... weird, considering we were stopping the Borg three years ago from changing all of history.”
> 
> “You know that Hugh and his company are no longer Borg. You have said this yourself, and have defended this point of view, previously before.” 
> 
> “Right; and coupled with what we were debriefed from, what they’ve built out here with the things we left them a decade ago, it’s… a little mind-blowing that we’re standing at the edge of something so new here, huh? A whole new people? A whole new entity, whoever they are- if not Borg, but are still from the Borg? Must be a lot to think about, for a person, a people who didn’t do a whole lot of thinking for themselves before,” Geordi sighed, motioning his head and blinking his eyes.
> 
> “Who will they wanna be, Data?," Geordi asked no one in particular, "What will they wanna be?”
> 
> Data raised his eyebrows and pondered Geordi’s words.
> 
> “Whatever they would choose to be, I suppose.”
> 
> Geordi merely smiled in return to Data, his heart swelling in pride and admiration as it had so many times before with regards to the android. 
> 
> “Very wise, dear.”
> 
> “I speak the same wisdom for your own observations, Geordi.”
> 
> The two ceased their banter as they felt the turbolift slow to a stop, the light above the door signaling their arrival to slide open and reveal Deck 3’s Observation Plaza. The Keter, being a hospital starship, hosted a humble number of walking perimeters and courtyards, on top of the physical therapy training and exercise gear its complement required. One level hosted an observation deck that currently had its sights set on Ohniaka III’s amber horizon, a single former Borg standing against the shine of the window’s view as they folded their hands in support over a single forearm support bracer. Geordi could only gape as his eyes widened and even Data’s expression shifted to surprise; for they definitely, somehow, amazingly recognized the stare that turned back to greet them, even all these years and removed exo-plating later.
> 
> It was… Hugh. It was actually, honest-to-God, mostly de-Borgified Hugh, one whole decade later. 
> 
> Geordi recognized the right half of that face in a heartbeat, but as he stepped out of the turbolift, amazement continued to swell in him as the initial shock of the sight wore off. A left half of his face? Two eyes? A full head of well-trimmed hair? Healthy-looking skin unstained by nanoprobe-induced paleness? He actually had a right hand underneath all those augments?! Hugh was clad merely in a muted grey medical gown with a high black turtleneck underneath it (a temporary biosuit, no doubt), legs exposed save for the black shin-high socks he wore and the healing medical patches that littered his skin…
> 
> And finally, a voice knocked Geordi out of the fog and brought him back to earth; a kind, gentle, sweet voice he heard a decade ago, now unencumbered by cybernetic distortions that once sounded so frightened and confused.
> 
> “Geordi?” Hugh uttered, his jaw shuddering and his eyes dart back between him and Data. While he held their gaze with a shockingly potent stare Hugh had, he was re-fastening his support's brace: “Data…”
> 
> “Hey,” Geordi piped. “Sorry we’re a little late.”
> 
> “Agreed,” Data said softly, “our transport could only arrive so quickly.” 
> 
> That shocked expression was slowly turning into a smile.
> 
> “I--”
> 
> _What a perfect first word to hear Hugh say, after all this time._
> 
> After an attempted trot that led to a small stagger on Hugh's behalf, Geordi caught and hugged him with all the strength he could offer while paying mind to his possibly-tender body, his arms wrapping around his back and-- his? Spine? Arm augments? Oh, it took everything in Geordi to wondering about those cybernetic niches and implants as he held the former drone, reeling his mind back towards the enthusiasm and thrill at seeing a man who called him ‘friend’ for the first time in 10 years. 10 years later, and he was still alive; alive, even thriving! Hugh was panting some and trying to regain his balance from the sudden physical effort, but he drew back, looking Geordi all over his face with a tired laugh--
> 
> _“I do not want to forget I am Hugh.”_
> 
> And apparently, by everything vested in him, Hugh sure as hell didn’t forget who he was. 
> 
> “You are not--” Hugh faltered as he pulled back from the hug, his voice cracking with as much affection as his cracked face was, “your VISOR, Geordi, you-- where is--?” 
> 
> “Looks like we had our own ocular procedures done, huh?” Geordi found himself saying with a sheepish smile. “I had the cybernetics work for implants done about 5 years ago. My body was in a position where I could and, well… figured it was now or never.” 
> 
> Hug was staring, murmuring: "Outstanding... the processor wafers on your irises are very detailed-” 
> 
> He didn’t think he’d get told the former Borg equivalent of “I like your eyes,” but this was already an unorthodox-enough meeting. 
> 
> “Data,” Hugh continued, blissfully ignorant to the flattery, “I am... so glad to see you too, it's been so long--”
> 
> “It is good to see you too, Hugh," Data greeted kindly, "but I notice you seem to be staggering; would you like assistance either standing or sitting?”
> 
> “If… that is alright actually, yes,” the former Borg sighed, trying to straighten himself on his brace as Data and Geordi swooped in on either side for support. “My malfunctioning cortical node was affecting some of the motor functions and augments in my right leg, and the removal of corresponding implants has been... very tiring on my musculature.” 
> 
> “Hardly surprised at all,” Geordi mused, a touch of shock still in his voice. “How long have you been on the Keter, Hugh?”
> 
> “147 hours,” he told them, “my procedure was 118 hours ago. All of them were completed in just 75.”
> 
> “And they’re letting you walk around like this already?”
> 
> “In small amounts,” Hugh confirmed as they helped him sit on a bench, Geordi grinning as his and Data’s hands brushed each other while they left Hugh’s back. “The Doctor believes it will help develop my strength alongside regeneration once my physical therapy sessions begin.” 
> 
> Geordi was, as Data could probably tell, at a complete loss for words as he listened to Hugh. He only knew Borg terminology as… viciously powerful, alien technology, not to be something so casually discussed; and in a reparative sense, no less! 
> 
> “I, ah… Hugh, you’re--” Geordi tried to find the words. “I’m sorry if I-- sound so surprised, and you look amazing; we’re glad to see you and all, but I just… I didn’t know you and former Borg like your Cube’s group could-- could ah, I don't-- know the proper--”
> 
> “The others and I did not think we could look like this either, Geordi,” Hugh finished for him, surprised at how quickly the drone, the former drone, verbalized it. “Did you know, that… augments; they fall from us over time? Are rejected by our own bodies? Not as perfectly as I saw Captain Picard; he was only a part of the Collective for such a short amount of time that he had no deeply-inlaid implants, but… the Doctor has told me wonderful stories of the Delta Quadrant. About those freed from the Collective who live there, or those who freed themselves from it. I have even met some of those he helped," Hugh said wondrously, "have you met Seven of Nine yet? Icheb? The rest, I--? I'm... Ah. I apologize, but... to meet others like ourselves. It is comforting. Refreshing. Invigorating. And I feel much more like… myself, after everything.”
> 
> “It is very fortunate for you and your comrades Voyager returned from the Delta Quadrant this year,” Data noted. 
> 
> Geordi, watching Data realize he should probably avoid offering a horrid scenario as compared to if Voyager had not done so, saw the android’s face shift to a more pleasant expression. 
> 
> “...And it is even more fortunate that you and those on Ohniaka III have a caring, knowledgeable doctor to steward your recuperation.” 
> 
> “Very much so, Data,” Hugh sighed. But his eyes suddenly widened at the mention of ‘doctor’ from Data, the words tumbling out his mouth, “Beverly… Beverly, how is--”
> 
> “She’s well, Hugh,” Geordi assured. “A little held up right now with a Terrelian fever outbreak on a moon the Enterprise-E is giving aid to, but she’s doing alright. She said to say hello, actually- to you and everyone here.”
> 
> “Indeed; as well as Captain Pica--”
> 
> Data was cut off by the chime of his combadge, hitting it with his left hand and hearing their shuttle pilot escort. “Proceed, Ensign.”
> 
> “Commander Data, that ion storm we passed by a while ago is still giving the console some trouble. Would you mind assisting us with some scans analyses?” 
> 
> Data looked to Geordi as if to request permission, and the Commander nodded. “Call me if you need any more help.”
> 
> “I will be certain to. Hugh,” Data offered, “it is, again, enriching to be in your presence; especially to someone who helped save my life from my brother. I will return shortly to resume conversation.” With another plap to his combadge and a request of “one to transport,” Data beamed out, Geordi left by himself with the former drone. 
> 
> The peace of the observation room hung between them, the xB and engineer still reeling from each others' presence.
> 
> “Data is... wearing a ring on his fourth left digit,” Hugh finally broke the silence with, “and so are you. This is a new observation, since I-- saw you last. I am aware of the significance this custom has in Terran culture through my instilled knowledge, and I... congratulate you, Geordi.”
> 
> The Commander bit the corner of his lip. “Thanks, Hugh,” Geordi said with a charmed grin, his thumb absently rubbing at the wedding ring. “Feels like our three year anniversary was just a couple days ago.” 
> 
> “Were you able to celebrate properly?”
> 
> “Taking three months of peaceful Shore Leave together after preventing a planet-wide insurrection was more than enough celebration for us.” 
> 
> The former Borg continued to smile. 
> 
> “So much has changed for us, it seems.”
> 
> “Not everything, I hope,” Geordi quipped back, “just what happened naturally, and what we wanted to change, I guess. If anything, this, with you... it looks like as if it's a good time as any to start getting to know you as a better friend, Hugh.”
> 
> A proud little grin wriggled on Hugh’s lips.
> 
> But the former Borg began to falter despite that smile, swallowing and leaning further on his brace. 
> 
> “I actually wondered whether or not you would recognize me. ...Or if you would even-- want to answer my request. We have been- updated on the Borg's activities since our decade’s long isolation, and it is… disturbing,” Hugh admitted, “knowing what the Collective is capable of. What they have done. Coming to terms with the assaults they have begun actively pursuing against other sapient species not wanting assimilation. It is ...Frightening, even.”
> 
> “Hugh,” Geordi interjected, finally taking a seat beside him on the bench. “You’re not… you, everyone here; you’ve all been sealed off from the galaxy for ten years, building your own world, that’s not…” 
> 
> “We know,” Hugh assured him. “ I know; perhaps better than any of them. We’ve spent 10 years secluded, ensuring we know, and how to avoid becoming just another consuming Hivemind again after Lore. But it is... still difficult;” he admitted, "Knowing where we have come from.”
> 
> Geordi had to stop, sweeping the guilt of his earlier associations under a figurative carpet.
> 
> “You’re not them, though. You’ve been impacted by them, sure, but.. Even who I’m looking at now, you’ve grown into so much more than what the Collective could ever hope to make in it's quest for ‘perfection.’ You’re you. And to look at you now, it’s… you’re amazing. I’m at a loss for words, honestly.”
> 
> “I find myself in a similar predicament , actually,” Hugh mused, "finding myself at a loss for words."
> 
> Turning his head to return Geordi’s gaze, Hugh looked at him. Really looked at him. And now, sitting so close, the Commander could see all the details on Hugh’s face; the type of pupil dilation shutters in his sky-blue, cybernetic eye, the rivets of scars bordering where his head was once encased in exo-plating, the new flesh knit together to create the person that was always there underneath... It was complemented by the same, brown eye he remembered from ten years ago; a brown eye once filled with fear, confusion, apprehension, now filled with hope, wonder, and a vast need, want, and desire, to know more. 
> 
> “The need to find them again- to decide on what words to use… does that ever go away?” 
> 
> And the Commander, thankfully, felt he knew exactly what to say.
> 
> “No,” Geordi replied finally, “no, not really. You get better at it, but it never really leaves. And that’s alright. When you see the best things in life, that’s the best time to go looking for ways to describe things. Because there’s a whole lot of words out there for you to use,” Geordi offered, “and it’s you who’s getting to do the looking. And I’m sure to you, Hugh- the idea of getting to do that yourself... that must be a very valuable sensation.”
> 
> The former drone puzzled in escalating delight over Geordi’s offerings, a soft smile starting to replace the initial concern and confusion on his weary face.
> 
> “Yes,” Hugh realized, “yes, you are right. It is. I will remember that.” 
> 
> The absent hum of the starship's impulse engines lent them another shared silence.
> 
> “Are you happy, Hugh?” 
> 
> He pondered for a moment; or, perhaps, even, went looking for words by which to respond.
> 
> “Yes,” the xB said softly. “I am, Geordi. Even moreso... now that my friend is here.” 
> 
> And Geordi, grinning, set his left hand on Hugh’s knee, giving it a gentle squeeze of support as his wedding ring glinted in the observation deck’s lighting.
> 
> “Happy to be here.”

In the present- in 2391, in Geordi’s Ready Room aboard the Specialty Starbase _Solstice-_ the Commander absently turned Hugh’s old holographic imaging augment in his hand, a nostalgic grin on his lips and a thumb rubbing against the implant’s colorful lens.

He should be thankful he had _this_ , Geordi supposed. 

He hardly got _anything_ of Data’s from the _Scimitar's_ wreckage. 

Geordi paused, then, motioning the scuffed up thing to catch the light in all its litany of color. 

> _"Do you fear death?"_

And he held the xB’s implant a little tighter.


	16. perseverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehabilitation is never immediate, clean, nor instantaneous, as much as some people would like or imagine it to be. 
> 
> Empathy can be born from inherent kindness, sure, but sympathy is forged from the sometimes brutal fires of experience. 
> 
> Don't be hesitant to sleep some of it off, Director. The Atlas Project, the Junctions, and Commander need you as much as you need them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOGGED THE HELL IN LET'S GOOOOO || i'll start off right now by saying heavy cw disclaimers for violence, mental crises, and dysphoria || a lot has been building to this. buckle up fuckos || not a whole lot to say here but i'm super proud of this chapter and again thanks to y'all for sticking with me in this long fic. we're about 2/3 of the way now through act 2 and i love hearing y'all's thoughts either in comments or on twitter :') || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 5, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_ **   
**~~[CLASSIFIED LOCATION]~~ **

> **** _CH. 1, SECTION VI - ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION SOCIETAL STRUCTURE - PUBLIC ETIQUETTE [SPECIAL CAUTIONARY ADDENDUM] (WRITTEN BY JUNCTION HORUS, SUPERVISOR TO LT. CMR. DR. AMADEUS O’REILLY)_ ** **
> 
> _Do not speak of the Collective’s Queens. Do not utter their titles in public spaces, lest you wish to encourage harrowing silence followed in their names’ wake. The Reclaimed have keen hearing in most circumstances, and they will know when their name leaves your lips, or the signs for them are made in xBSL/LBSL._
> 
> _The Queens are victims, and yet they are tyrants. We know nothing of them, Species 125- and yet we_ were _them, at one point. It is an odd sensation, the knowledge of Queens as the Hivemind’s unwitting subjects; they are, however, enablers of that harsh, vile instinct of assimilation, and embody the void the Collective so eagerly steals for like a great, famished beast. Make no mistake, reader: the Reclaimed ponder deeply on how much blame there is to lay at the feet of Species 125 for their management of those infinite voices; the conqueror-like charges they led against the Alpha Quadrant’s factions in the 2370s wears heavy in our eternal guilt, and the foolishness of our Oppressors being the instigators for a war with a nearly undefeatable, otherworldly force lingers painfully in the Reclaimed conscience. We, as those Liberated and those pulled from their empirical whispers, carry the terror they instill in our very souls, and we try desperately during our Reclamations to turn our gazes from the burning suns they have left as brands upon our minds._
> 
> _They see so much, dear individualized reader. They see so much, perpetuate the Collective, and have the power to rip it all from Unreclaimed in one agonizing, maddeningly fell swoop._
> 
> _For amusement’s sake.  
> _ _For power’s enforcement.  
> _ _For their own_ _pleasure- whatever sick thrill there may be had in that sensation._
> 
> _I (and so many other xBs) wish we had the faintest idea of what sensations as 'amusement' and 'pleasure' felt like, what the word “own” meant, before our Reclamations and Liberations pulled us from that smothering Hivemind._
> 
> _My mood sours when I remember the days of my trying to comprehend the very idea of "happiness.'" Me, blinded by tears and frustration to the beauties of a life not lived and stolen from me; yet I know now that, while I wept in want and ignorance, the Queens feasted on and kept these emotions from us, these sensations- as gluttonous lords would hoard from starving peasants and serfs on their land._
> 
> _I hope you see, reader, the very contradictions as read previously; that they could embody anything related to the word “I” when they are supposed stewards of an “equal Hivemind,” how sick and revolting this knowledge is to Reclaimed, once they are given the clarity to comprehend this unbearable truth._
> 
> _We see them in our dreams and when left without alcoves. We hear their whispers that thrum throughout subspace, and recall their voices that echo through the infinite chambers of our cybernetic makeups._
> 
> _As an outsider, do not speak of the Queens, unless conversation is initiated by a Reclaimed first.  
> _ _As an outsider, do not invoke their presence, lest you dredge up memories of our lives once unwholly lived._
> 
> _We have only ourselves as separation from these entities._
> 
> _Ourselves: we, who must serve as our own saints of protection, wardens of our own self-made realms, anchors in our own realities- our very idea of "self" holds those cursed gates shut, the very preciousness of ourselves keeps those whispers away._
> 
> _We, ourselves, through individuality and support of community, protect each other from the ever-present harbingers of the Collective’s Abyss._
> 
> _Do not speak of the Queens._
> 
> _Lest the Queens speak for us, over us, through us, and as us once more._

"I have noticed something particular about you, Hugh."

The Executive Director pulled his gaze from the prosthetic body behind a lab's view window, turning it to Queen 127 at his side.   
In an attempt to stifle his nerves for what was to soon come, Hugh spoke in a calm voice and steeped himself in conversation.

"And what might that be?"

"You put a great deal of value on the words that you utilize," she began, "and I have observed you... pondering on sights- deciding what language to use for a far longer time that should be efficient. Why is this?"

As if to confirm her observations, Hugh pursed his lips and allowed the lab's ambiance to fill the quiet as he figured out his response. "I do it... for the mere fact that I am _able_ to do it, 127. I value the immensities and variety of possibilities in language... very _highly_ , you must understand- it took me a long time to even...." Hugh motioned a hand, " _solidify_ my competency regarding speech itself. Being able to communicate how I felt- it was a skill I _very_ much had to practice. To this very day, I- find I _still_ grapple with this part of individual existence. But I am still learning every day, despite those struggles," Hugh assured her. "I learn just as all xBs do and individual life does."

"You admit, then," she noticed, "that there is _struggle_ in this form of life. That I will inevitably struggle once in that _body_." 

"Readily," he affirmed, "despite this, I ask you rest assured we are here to _support_ you through that struggle. I would be a terrible liar in both moral standing and attempted falsities if I told you this life was perfect and free from flaws."

She let out a dry, yet graceful laugh. "You mock me, then. Mock the attempted perfection we strove and stood for."

"What we _stood_ for?" Hugh challenged in a calm glance. "Or what we _chased_ to no avail?" 

127 pondered on this, and Hugh couldn't help himself.

"Look at that," he mused. "Seems as if I have inspired you to think on _your_ words, too." 

She smirked. "In a way," the Queen replied, "though I will admit it is simpler than that. Rather, I did not think that... near three months ago, I would be here. That _any_ of us would be here for that matter, if my original plans had gone through, but... we are past that, I believe. Far past that." 

"I would like to believe that as well, 127." 

Her mouth twitched before turning her gaze back to the glass that held the body beyond it.  
The star-like impact scar in the middle of 127's forehead from her smashed regeneration tank's glass shone in the sterile light.

"Are you ready?" Hugh asked.

Her expression hardened as 127 swallowed. "I have to be."

As she spoke, V'evik wrapped up business with the rest of their department and scooted out to where Hugh and 127 were observing, the Vulcan offering a PADD to the Director in their metalic hand. "The apparatus prosthetic is fully charged and ready for both transport and 127's coupling, Director Hugh. We may proceed." 

"Thank you, V'evik," Hugh chimed, reviewing their notes on the touch screen. "As always, the Cybernetics Division's work is outstanding; you should be quite proud of what you and the team have accomplished." 

"Your compliments are heartily appreciated," they made a point to say, "but understand why I say that my _own_ acceptance of permissible work will be _after_ 127 has had a successful, durated use of her prosthetic. It is... certainly some of the most intensive work I and the others have ever done, but I have learned a great deal through this spontaneous venture."

"You were added after my time in the Collective, V'evik," 127 crooned, "but I believe I can say with certainty that _any_ Queen would at least deem this... 'sufficient' to be hosted in- much less your tetriary's own."

"My assimilated outpost did not _have_ a Queen in its residence," V'evik pointed out, taking the PADD back from Hugh and filing some last-minute verifications. "However, I can assure you the sentiment for praise is... noted."

"'Noted?'" she crooned. "In what regard?"

V'evik managed a rather flat expression. "A 'fascinating' one."

Hugh, regardless, found himself amused by the Vulcan's subtle humor. "You are joining us for transport, correct?"

"Indeed; I will accompany you to prepare the engagement apparatus, ensuring that transport does not fluctuate any neural communications in the prosthetic. I will take company with the other senior staff in the Consultation Chamber's observation room; Junctions Five, Crosis and Troval should already be present alongside Commander La Forge and the Doctor." 

"You are correct," Hugh confirmed. "Commander La Forge escorted me here earlier and said he was heading to join them."

"Then we are ready." 

And with a traded nod to V'evik and a smirk downwards to 127, Hugh papped his combadge. “Reclamation Project Director Hugh to _Solstice_ Containment Room 4 personnel; three to transport to Consultation Containment Chamber, including target prosthetic apparatus and all corresponding machinery.”

“ _Acknowledged. Energizing in five seconds_.”

The Director took the brief respite of being washed in light and energy to regain his mental strength- holding a stiff upper lip for not only 127, but the entire staff surrounding this project. Regeneration, the night before, had granted him enough rest and morning coherency, but even a nightly visit with his Director Second was but a balm to the rapidly-rising anxiety that was his nerves today. For any other Reclamation Procedure, this would be business as usual; assistance with helping patients into new cybernetic augments was a beloved, treasured practice within the division, and each newly-linked arm, leg, or sensory piece of technology was just as precious as its organic counterpart.

But this was different.   
She was a Queen.   
It had never been done before.

No Reclamation Procedure, after all, was ever exactly the same.

And how different was a Queen's Reclamation already?

 _"Good afternoon, everyone,"_ Geordi voice chimed as Hugh and V'evik pulled the Consultation earpieces out of their pocket and into their ears. _"We're all ready to go?"_

"I will begin my last diagnosis to ensure transport did not interfere with any neural communications," the Vulcan told both Hugh and the Commander on the other end. "Allow me approximately 23 seconds." 

_"We're all ready in here, Director," the EMH chittered in agreement. "Ooo. Ahhh, it has been..._ many years _since I have seen a Borg Queen in such close proximity, sir. I do not know if I should bow or eat cake."  
"Well, she's technically not a Queen _anymore _, Doc,"_ Geordi sighed. _"Though it's gonna be up to_ her _to decide on what she wants to be instead."  
"Not many places accepting applicants with a 'Collective Consciousness Enforcer' quality on their resume, I imagine."  
"Oh, of course they are; what're you talking about, Doctor? Nechayev was my _favorite _Admiral just for that reason."_

Geordi's humor was a welcome balm against the backdrop of uncertainty.  
And it made Hugh remember the nap they'd nearly shared in Geordi's quarters the night before.

As V'evik gave the green for the body, the Vulcan took their leave to join the others down the decon hallway and into the Observation Chamber, Hugh's cybernetic eye focusing in alertness as the hologram Borg wall sealed itself off. 

Hugh turned to 127, debating whether or not to pull up his sleeves before picking up her head.

"I am sorry it's not the same as hydraulics cables that used to lift you inside."

She thinned her lips. "There is not _much_ in this life right now that could qualify as 'the same.' ...Though I don't suppose there ever _will_ be a 'same' anymore."

Hugh paused at this, recoiling his hands some at her choice of words.  
He watched her.   
And the Director noticed how 127 refused to meet his gaze. 

As if noticing the silence, she turned up from the floor to connect Hugh's stare. "Put me in it already," the Queen remarked quietly. "Return me to autonomy _,_ at the very least."

He noticed, again, how she still refused to call the body her own in any capacity. 

For the sake of compliance towards his patient's desire, Hugh keyed in the proper release protocol with a small frown, and the clamps on her shoulders released. The skin loosened and immediately sealed over from the harsh hooks, her rate of nanoprobe healing explained for the mere fact that there was not much flesh at all on Queens to heal. Once her spine was free and released from the docking port, Hugh carefully picked her up by the shoulders, stabilizing his balance with the weight of her metal laced torso and bone... 

And the only sounds Hugh could hear (both over his earpiece and in the Consultation Chamber) were his footsteps approaching the prosthetic's apparatus, the ambient sounds of simulated Borg walls, and a sigh of anticipation from Geordi. 

Perhaps there was a time, in Hugh's clarity-robbed half life, where this may have been _routine_ for him; perhaps, before his Reprisal, he assisted Queens in such a manner during that blind subjugation, steered by billions of voices in an infinite horizon of synchronized, smothering multitudes. 

At least now, 23 years later, the Director could at _least_ say that he did it of his own free will. 

He raised Queen 127 above the empty space between the body's shoulders, offering her one last grin of support. 

"I am happy for you."  
"Then why do I sense such trepidation from you?"

> _[He stared at a face from a life once not lived]_

Hugh swallowed.

"Because I want _you_ to be happy, too. Beyond where we were."

At that, she softened by the barest crease in her pale, veined brow.

"Release me." 

So he did.

The prosthetic clicked and shuffled internally to life as millions of engagement links connected themselves to 127's head, neck, shoulders, spine- her skin paled even further from the increased flow and production of nanoprobes pouring through the new systems. Hugh slowly stepped back to allow her space, reveling in the image of 127 stitching herself back together more and more with each second, the sound of cybernetics rustling and breaking through the Chamber's silence as mud would crack from the heat of a harsh sun. 127's breath was audibly longer now, her synthetic diaphragm expanding despite her closed eyes... until the hooks vaulted, clamped, and tugged at her skin, a primordial urge in Hugh's brain telling him to behold and attend to the deployed Queen--

 _"Synchronization at 99.98%,"_ V'evik declared over Hugh's earpiece. _"Five reports all prosthetic apparatus cabling ejected in proper protocol."  
_ _"Troval and I are reporting healthy biochip and nanoprobe production, Commander,"_ the EMH piped pleasantly.  
 _"We're holding steady on all neural pathways, Hugh,"_ Geordi chimed, Hugh unable to hold back a relieved grin at Geordi's attempt for levity. _"You're both doing great."  
_ _"We are just beginning, Commander,"_ Crosis reminded him gently. _"Keep her engaged, Hugh."_

He acknowledged their words- all of their words- with a subtle nod as his kept his gaze fixed on 127. 

By this point, she had opened her eyes and was staring at her hands- opening, flexing, turning them over every which way...

"My... _regards_ to the Reclamation Project staff," she finally spoke, Hugh's gut unwrenching some at hearing her voice now in that body. "It is... as I was." 

And Hugh felt like that was going to be the best compliment he'd get all day. 

She pursed her lips, as if mentally realizing something in the new body. "No assimilation tubules, I notice." 

The Director shook his head. "You are not connected, 127. All it would result in are null assimilations for no one's benefit." 

"Mm." 

Despite all this talk, she stayed in the body's frame.   
Hugh took a step forward. 

"Can you..." he spoke easily, "can you walk towards me?"  
"Of _course_ I can." 

She paused.   
So did he.

"...alright, well--" Hugh sighed, " _Will_ you?"

127's lips tightened. 

The first step out of the support frame was more of a hard march, as if testing the solidity of the floor beneath her. Hugh, a hand outstretched in caution, watched her carefully should he need to help.  
The second step was harsh, robotic; a far cry from the seamless elegance with which a Queen would transfer between a headbound entity and prosthetic autonomy.  
The third step she stumbled, tripped, and would have fallen over head-first if Hugh had not grabbed her by the hand and shoulder in support.

"Aha, there, there- there we go," Hugh caught his nerves, "are you alright-?"

"Why, what--" 127 shuddered as she regained her composure with a swallow. "What are you doing-"  
"Doing what?"   
"My hand--"

He looked down.  
All Hugh was doing was merely holding one.   
Supporting it.   
His hand of flesh and bone, streaked with scars and remnants of implants long gone, contrasted the color of her shining, new, beautiful prosthetics as if they were night and day.

Incredible to think how a Queen, in all her and the Borg's infinite knowledge, could be perplexed by something as simple as holding a hand.

"I ah, forgive me if you did not want to be touched there," Hugh chuckled in a breath before he pulled his hand away and she regained her balance, "I needed a point to balance you before you fell, and--"

Hugh's eyes widened when he realized something.  
She wasn't letting go of his hand. 

"I can _see_ that," she sneered, "but this." She squeezed his hands tighter for emphasis. "Why continue it. What is the purpose." 

Hugh stood up straighter, sweeping the murmurs over his earpiece aside and suddenly looking for words. 

"I could... spend a very long time answering that question, 127," Hugh admitted sheepishly. "Touch means many things to people. Especially to xBs. But for brevity's sake, here and now: it is merely to ensure that I am here. I have you. ...Would you... like to let g--" 

"No."

He wasn't getting his hand back any time soon, then. No problem in any other circumstance, of course.  
Anything that could provide some concrete stability.

"You may hold it for as long as you like. For now, let's pause with some concrete diagnostics, alright?" 

She followed along, giving him a cue in the form of a nod.

"Good. Are you balanced? Do you require a seat?"  
"No."   
"Cortical node functionality?"   
"Operational."  
"All drivers operating at sufficient levels?"   
"Optimal."   
"Sensory processors?"   
"Functioning."  
"Nanoprobe and biochip conversion?"   
"Synchronizing from head functionality to bodily prosthetic."

"Good, good," Hugh offered her in a reserved grin. "I suppose, then, for the most _important_ question, before we start... how do you feel?"

She paused, taking a long moment between the gaze she held fixed on their held hands... then finally, looked back up to Hugh, where he saw a perplexed expression. 

"Regarding which functions?" she asked.

"No relation to functions," the Director offered her. "Simply-- you. Your own sensations- separate from the status of your prosthetic. How do you feel about... walking? The idea of sitting? What emotions are you associating with this? Testing your functions, speaking to me, verbalizing what you are experiencing, all that-" 

She squinted, somewhat- as if rolling the words around on her tongue and sampling and trying to apply them. "How I feel... about- myself?" 127 pursued, "Or this, my..." 

"Before we continue _any_ further with your Consultations," Hugh offered her, "I want to ensure this is what you want. That you feel _right_ in it, or at least associate this current state with positive and constructive emotions. Not everything has to be immediately perfect, but what you are able to synchronize both to your headspace and your physical tether helps avoi--"

“It’s _not_ right.”

127's hand slipped out of his grasp.  
She was quiet for a painful 6.3 seconds as Hugh allowed her to think.  
127 simply stood there, rubbing, looking, feeling her hands- as if trying to conjure a feeling or sensation back before when Hugh held them... 

She was unable to adapt.  
To catalogue information to a collective Hive.

Hugh stopped, watching her hands as they turned over on themselves... and she began to run one over her crumbling expression, her stance growing more hunched towards and bristling where she stood.   
  
His voice was cautious. "What is not right?"

“It’s not- right.”

“127,” Hugh tried to hold steady in a quiet, gentle voice, _"what_ isn't right. Take as-- long as you need, we can remove you if you require, but-- are you able to tell me abo--”

"It functions. Perfectly. It is a body recreated from my provided schematics. But it-- just-- it's not right, i-it's not--" 

Hugh did not know what he saw in Queen 127’s eyes; more appropriately, rather, he could not _verbalize_ what he saw. Tearing her glance away from her hands, 127 looked to him with that same, haunting stare she so often drilled into the Director, a stare more hauntingly powerful than any other xB’s but laced with an unknown history and depth. It was the eternal gaze of a Queen, certainly; those almighty demiurges that ruled their Collective domain with a silky laugh and suspended in an all-knowing apparatus high above their personal court of drones… 

_“Synthetic heart rate is escalating at a rate of 5% per second,"_ V'evik's voice noted.

"None of it is!" she gasped, " _None_ of this is!"

Hugh began to hear a myriad of statuses fired off on his earpiece's end as he held her stare.  
But _in_ that stare, in the span of hundreds of microcalculations analyzing her look, Hugh saw a flurry of unbearable emotions in her eyes.

The same emotions he felt 23 years ago. 

> _[Fear]_

_“Brainwaves spiking into critical stress thresholds--”_

> _[Uncertainty]_

_“Host tissue is rejecting prosthetic couplings--”_

> _[Loss]_

_“Adrenal levels rising--”_

> _[Confusion]_

_“Hugh, initiate Consultation safety protocol now--!_ _”_

Most frightening of all: anger.

**"LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!”**

And Hugh was sent flying into the Consultation Chamber’s hologram wall from a hard, backhanded, gash-inducing smack to his face as she shouted her horrified venom.

Hugh's earpiece, buzzing with alarm, rivaled the sound of a coupling interface cable locking with some sort of technology. The question of what was even in here she could even _link_ to besides the original docking apparatus was answered when Hugh opened his eyes despite the pain, seeing the cables from the back of her _head_ extending and linking into the Consultation Chamber’s control pad, fear crushing his chest as she hijacked the room in less than a second. Hugh's listening comprehension began to come back when he heard a cacophony of shouts and hollers over his earpiece all but confirm her created quarantine for them both, the sound of the personnel’s panic rivaled only by Queen 127’s marching towards his slumped body as her cable extended from behind the back of her head. 

Hugh heard an attempted tackle from Crosis and he crumpled in pain against the reconfigured force field view pane, V’evik clamoring with Five to try and figure out how to shut it down, Vorik attempting to debrief the situation to Containment Chamber personnel as the EMH and Troval no doubt watched in horror watching their life signs, and Geordi--

> _[Oh, Geordi--]_

And in that matter of seconds, the Director’s concentration was cut when she gave a swift, hard kick to his stomach.  
Despite the pain, he realized something.

A _kick_ ?   
That was it? 

> _[That should have been it]  
> _ _[She could have ended it]_

Hugh coughed.  
The combination of her metallic alloy and prosthetic’s strength left him winded, hurting, and confused.   
And as much as he loathed this emotion, frightened beyond all belief.

127 drug him up by his Reclamation Project’s uniform harness, Hugh beginning to feel the welling of blood from the gash between his eyes. 

“ _YOU_ DID THIS TO ME!”

And she threw him across the room, the Director crashing against the opposite wall.

A throw?  
Not snapping his neck, no dissection of his critical-function implants?   
She should know the most efficient way to kill him, Hugh thought in his brutalized daze.

> _[This was-- not efficient--]_

Geordi’s broken, desperate _“HUGH!”_ broke him from these thoughts before she landed another kick to his ribs.

And another.  
And another.  
He heard a sob from somewhere above him.

 _“COMMANDER!”_ Troval hollered over his earpiece in a shout, Hugh hearing the rustle of fabric and various scuffles on the other end. Geordi voice cracked a concerned _“Hugh”_ and worried pants, but Hugh could hear his Betazoid friend combat the Commander’s protective instincts--

 _“If she wanted him dead, Commander,”_ Hugh heard Troval say in a shaking voice, _“she would’ve killed him where he stood.”_

Troval was right. Troval was right, as much as Hugh's head was pounding and his lungs were heaving for breath, the Director trying to pull himself out of a fetal position despite the pain from her repeated kicks. His cybernetics UI was fluctuating in his blue eye, trying to diagnose the abdominal damage despite the pain, so why wasn’t she--?

As Hugh thought on this through the sharp pain on his nose, he looked up. 

A paralysis ripped through him as Hugh watched her hand swipe for his throat, grab it in a vice-like grip, then pull him up and slam his body against a wall in a blur of motion. 

And finally, pinned against that faux Borg ship wall within the holodeck Consultation Chamber, Hugh locked an xB stare with Queen 127, and saw that her eyes held the same fear, anguish, anger, and tears he remembered so clearly from Queen 49. 

“ _YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!_ ” she cried, her eyes bleary and red as she shook him for emphasis. “You took everything and replaced it with _this!_ This… _pathetic_ excuse for life! This life that is so _imperfect; you took it because **YOU** had to be DIFFERENT and poison our sisters, our COLLECTIVE, our **MINDS!** You, _who... _”_

In Hugh’s strained gasps, he watched her anger crack.

“Y-you…”

And crack.

“You, who could’ve… killed me, s-so many times; been _done_ with me, _RID ME OF THIS LIFE_ \-- _!_ ”

And crack.

“I-it is… not _efficient_ … t-to deal with, _contend_ with… one who wishes to _die so much,_ but-- you-”

Until eventually, there was not much left of anger in Queen 127’s eyes at all.

Hugh struggled against her; in suffocation by her grasp, and the empathy that clouded his eyes and heart.

She gasped. “I-I cannot go back…”

Her grip held steady.

“I can’t _ever_ go back--”

Hugh gasped again, holding back fear and physical restraint long enough to try and speak:

“I-- I understa--”

“ _HOW COULD YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!”_ she challenged in a screech of retort, shoving him harder against the wall. “ _Understand_ _THIS?! I_ did not _**NEED** _to be _understood in the Collective;_ _WE_ ** _WERE_** _THE COLLECTIVE! Do you know what it’s like!? TO BE SO FILLED BY ORDAINMENT, PURPOSE, BY_ ** _OTHERS-_** _AND THEN BE LEFT WITH_ ** _NOTHING!?”_**

Despite her volume of shouting, her grip did not tighten.

But Hugh’s brow creased upwards, feeling his throat tighten with its own restrained lump as his gaze pleaded with her.

“Look at-- who… you’re-- talking to--”

Hugh’s visual UI began to fizzle and his hands began to lose their strength, her eyes widening as his brow creased upwards before his strength began to fade.

The blood from the slashed-at bridge of his nose began to trickle down his neck and between her prosthetic fingers.

And as Hugh saw her face crumple in realization and aghast self-awareness, he asked one more time to be freed as 127 stood there- overwhelmed, overburdened, and her mind in a panicked state of thought.

> _[He did not want to die]_

“P-please--” 

Like a newborn deer, the Queen’s legs wobbled and her knees crumpled inward, sinking to the floor with Hugh and clutching the Director close to her chest in a horrified, desperate embrace. Gasping and coughing, Hugh felt himself waft in and out of alertness in the embrace of a terrible empress who, not moments ago, tried to choke the life out of his bruising, weakened throat. 127’s voice finally cracked out an audible sob made more evident by the cybernetic lungs that expanded her range of breath, Hugh sensing her prosthetic hand bury underneath his soft hair to trace at his cranial scars... 

As he struggled to remain conscious, Hugh felt a dull ache begin to settle into the slash on his nose.

“H--”

**_“SHUT UP!”_ **

She choked out another “ _just shut up”_ of a sob, holding Hugh closer and tighter to her chest.

Hugh could manage “shutting up” pretty well, considering he needed the air circulating back to his brain during the silence.

“Th-this… it should be _right,_ ” she said after a few sobs, her trembling voice just above a whisper. “I-it is... how I was before. B-but it…” 

She paused, Hugh’s hearing finally picking up on the clamoring outside the Consultation Chamber.

“I cannot go back…” she repeated like a mantra through grit teeth. “I have suspected it, but, I… I am-- not the same, I thought this would be _fine once I was back,_ but--” 

A spark of defiance shot through Hugh and, pinpointing where one of her hands was wrapped around his body, he reached for her grip and took it, fighting with every conscious neuron and implant in his body to stay awake despite the pain, lightheadedness, and _fear_ that gripped his mind. Hugh’s grasp, still weak, rested against his chest with her hand still held in his, and he took in a shuddering breath while a swallow steadied his mental grounding. He tasted the iron of blood in his mouth and his throat hurt to even _speak,_ but he’d be damned if he didn’t speak _now,_ Hugh’s eyes screwed shut in concentration as he tried to avert the pain.

If anything, the real victory was the fact she was letting Hugh hold her hand in the first place.

“We-- _all_ change--” he managed through closed eyes and a defiant grit of his teeth. “All life does. And-- it is, _hard--_ ” 

A rigorous cough interrupted Hugh and shook his entire body, the Queen easing some of the pressure of her embrace for the sake of his cough’s ferocity. 

“...accepting that…” Hugh continued, regaining a ragged breath. “Very hard.” 

“What made you _accept_ it, then,” she hissed bitterly, “resistance... i--”

_“ **DON’T FUCKING SAY THAT TO ME!”** _

Hugh had no idea what her full response would’ve been had he not so violently interrupted her, but he had to spit that defiance out before he lost consciousness. 

But by now, that phrase said in any level of sincerity burned like heated iron against his skin, and tasted almost as awful as the iron on his tongue.

“I am not-- leaving. Going. Anywhere,” Hugh managed. 

He still held her hand as his eyes stayed shut, the chatter over his earpiece currently unintelligible. 

“I have not yet. So many others have not. And neither will _you…_ if you would _let_ yourself be here.”

A silence hung to rival her heavy sniff as Hugh felt the warmth of blood seep into the collar of his uniform.

He heard a thudding against a door. 

“W-where… where do I start, then--” 127 managed.

And the Director fought for a faint little grin amidst the blood, the bruising, and the battering.

“Like all xBs do,” he told her. “From your beginning. Wherever… wherever that may be.”

“A ‘beginning,’” she laughed bitterly, “how simple.”

Hugh’s grin grew wider into a smile. 

“We all have one.” 

A sudden lightheadedness and dizziness surged through the Director. 

“I’m--”

“Hugh--”

Geordi’s voice crackled in over his earpiece, _“Hold on Hugh, please--”_

“Let them in,” he begged her in muddled words. “Let them in. They are here to help. I-- need it as much as you do.”

“Make them take me out of this,” 127 murmured, her voice tight and meek again. “Out of this body. This lie.”

“Ask them,” he breathed, “they w… yes, they... wi…”

Hugh could make out 127 asking his name and a bloodied, prosthetic hand run over his face.

Fading senses heard Five holler that the door jam had been deactivated, the chittering of 127's head cables decoupling from the hijacked panel and receding back into her head. 

And the world went black for the Executive Director as the room fizzled back into alabaster white, the xB’s body going limp in the arms of a weeping and forlorn despot.

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
MAIN SICKBAY - INTENSIVE CARE UNIT**

> ** _CH. 2, SECTION III- ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION SOCIETAL STRUCTURE - THE RECLAMATION PROJECT | CONSULTATION DIVISION_ **
> 
> _While I have sung the praises of the Reclamation Project's Consultation Division in previous sections and commend its dedication to mental health, I must remind the reader that this process, as is any in the Reclamation Project, is not without its hardships._
> 
> _I have been told (and seen for myself) that the Consultation Division is rigorous work rooted in patience and understanding, requiring empathy working with sympathy in the highest levels. Not unlike therapy sessions of varying calibers and mental evaluations regarding patient profiles, the Consultation Division provides counseling and mental health support, alongside psychiatric analysis with possible treatment avenues for every former drone the Reclamation Project encounters. While not all Reclamation Project staff are required to work directly within the Consultation Division, each staffer is at_ least _required to be certified in de-escalation training, basic levels of counseling, and emergency methods of safely restraining a patient to avoid the possible dangers of Borg-augmented and influenced conflict. When working with minds that have been submerged for so long in the smothering nature of the Hivemind, extracting severed xBs from dormancy (or any other type of Reprisal-based occurrence) is often traumatic, harrowing, and confusing for the first fleeting moments of individuality. While all Reclamation Project members can extend that sympathy in their hearts, they must also know how to realistically employ it to better service their fellow Reclaimed._
> 
> _While I would typically write here "you must understand," I am afraid that, unless you_ yourself _are an xB, there will never be any proper level of "understanding" with regards to the Consultation Division's importance._
> 
> _Unless you an xB, you will never directly understand the horror of watching others like yourself being under suicide/self-induced shutdown watch, simply because the idea of personhood is too immense a concept to grasp. Unless you are an xB, you will never understand the anxiety attacks at the realization you have thought- the fact you have agency, and the vastness of a thing we all take for granted called a "will" and a "voice" was forcibly removed from you, both physically and mentally. Their voices, formerly part of billions, now forced to live as a single voice? The reality of what was taken from you, versus the reality of what reality even is outside of the Collective?_ _This section, admittedly, would grow rather long if I steeped myself further in the ideas of xB philosophy, and will instead encourage you to ponder on your own identity, and carry that much more respect to those who have built or remembered who they are or want to be._
> 
> _To help illustrate and highlight the significance of the Consultation Division, I will recount a case from 2384 I discovered during my historical research in Cooperation archives, regarding a minor diplomacy incident between Starfleet and the Liberated Borg of Ohniaka III._
> 
> _A human, salvaged out of a severed drone resource storage, was discovered to be a Lieutenant from the_ USS Melbourne; _thought to be lost at the Battle of Wolf 359. Ferried back to Ohniaka III, the Lieutenant began to adjust to life as an xB, and from what I am told, "flourished" amongst his like-minded, augmented kin as he went through all four departments of the Reclamation Project. Frozen in aged time at 26, he began to study music, as a way of Consultation-encouraged coping; it allowed the Lieutenant to channel his complex emotions regarding assimilation, his career in Starfleet, personal life, and de-assimilation into musical research granted by Borg-instilled knowledge, downloads, and an innate desire to pursue a hobby he had apparently wanted to since childhood._
> 
> _As was becoming typical protocol between the Federation and Cooperation, information regarding this xB was sent to Starfleet for updating personnel records to disclaim his altered POW/MIA status, and then forwarded to the Federation to let next-of-kin know of his survival. While the Lieutenant's family was elated that he was alive, they were horrified and disgusted to learn he was living on Ohniaka III in the company of xBs, unable to understand why he would want to choose such a life when he had parents and extended family waiting on Terra Prime after 18 years of absence. After much political_ _delineation and debate (and from what I am told by xBs close to said Lieutenant, a very demeaning visit from the parents to Ohniaka III), the Lieutenant was forced to return home to Terra Prime, their compromises being that he could continue Consultation sessions on Terra Prime over subspace transmission, and he would have a Reclamation Project Cybernetics Specialist service his augments every three earthen months._
> 
> _I hope I do not have to describe to you, reader, how jarring life would be for a man pulled back by force to Terra Prime- away from an environment he was medically, mentally, and socially cared for, and wholly understood by in his former trauma and societal solidarity as an xB._
> 
> _I hope this also explains why, three months after returning to Terra Prime, the Lieutenant stole a Starfleet shuttle from his family's estate, and made desperate haste back to Ohniaka III despite pursuit._
> 
> _Much to their outrage (and inciting the panic of two Starfleet scout gunners nearly having a conflict with Reclamation Project Tactical Cubes over Ohniaka III thanks to the immediate confusion), the family was unable to utilize much of their Starfleet-grandfathered bureaucracy to return him to Terra Prime- thanks to incriminating documentation of derogatory instances and mindsets held against not only xBs, but revealed other Federation/Federation-aligned species biases, and earned the patriarch a demotion from Commodore to forced leave of active duty._
> 
> _Today, the xB in question composes the most beautiful, soul-stirring piano solos to compliment his haunting voice- aided by no other than a small orchestral group of eight, and one that he was formerly "Six of."_

Geordi’s mind, for the next 4 hours and 32 minutes, was in officer lockdown mode to avoid the horror of what transpired in the Consultation Chamber. 

And as the Commander stood in _Solstice’s_ Sickbay, hands folded behind his back and his freshly changed, crimson uniform highlighted by the sterile lights, he finally felt that duty-bound clamp begin to unclench in his mind, Geordi allowing himself a sigh as he watched Troval tend to Hugh on the other side of observation glass.

A patch was covering the bridge of Hugh's nose. 

He looked so peaceful.

_But there had been so much blood on his face._

The first hour, admittedly, was the most painful and nerve-wracking ordeal; after 127 had disengaged the door jam, the group had to continue the de-escalation process where Hugh had left off, Crosis finally managing to pull a bloodied, unconscious Hugh from her sobbing grasp. She resisted, initially; not out of venom nor selfish spite, but out of instinct, a need for anchoring, and a desperation to hold something that was _familiar_ to her- something that was _stable_ and was _hers_ as her anxiety-riddled mind grappled clarity and concern. But Crosis, the Director Second and head Junction of this project’s Consultation Division, knelt before 127 as Five tended to the room’s controls, all V’evik, Troval, Geordi, and the EMH watching Crosis diligently…

> _Crosis’ voice was strained; both in concern, and something Geordi didn’t want to suspect was anger- despite how understandable it may have been. “Please,” the el-Aurian asked quietly. “Let me help you- so we can help_ him, _too.”_
> 
> _Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I-I hurt him.”_
> 
> _“We will heal him. But first we must_ have _him from you to do such, 127.”_
> 
> _A shiver ran through her. “I do not--_ deserve _to be helped for this.”_
> 
> _“It is not a matter of ‘deserving,’” Crosis told her. “Exceptions have no place in the Reclamation Project; only… a place for you, and_ any _other xB that desires it. But I… right now, you are both in crises,” the man said faintly, “and I can only ask you to give me him- so that I can take him where he needs to go, and you can get the help you need too. We will take you out of your vessel. I promise you.”_
> 
> _With thin lips and wide eyes, she held him for a few more, painfully long seconds… until her grasp on him loosened more and more, inch by inch, and Crosis was finally able to escort Hugh’s limp body into his strong arms. The el-Aurian was able to manage a sigh of relief as he arranged his dear friend for a better, more supportive embrace; but the peace was temporary as, before Crosis had the chance to verbally comfort and thank the Queen, she began relapsing, muttering “no, no, no no no give him back, give him BACK, NO!” in higher volume and began trembling, reaching for Hugh, begging and screaming “he was supposed to get me out of this! Get me out! I want out of this, GET ME OUT, GIVE HIM BACK!”_
> 
> _Crosis, seeing he was needed as a Consultation Division leader more than taking his friend to Sickbay, passed him to Geordi as Troval confirmed over combadge the medical transport was inbound, Geordi watching all Five, V’evik, and now Crosis restrain her as best and comfortably as they could, EMH providing the medical backup as Troval led Geordi out of the chamber._
> 
> _Though Geordi was stunned, he managed to hold Hugh by the back and support his bloodied, uniform-staining head, watching the scene with no small amount of stunned silence as he shuffled the Director out by Troval's lead._
> 
> _She did not want to kill him, Geordi realized._
> 
> _She wanted to_ sympathize _with him._
> 
> _She was confused.  
> _ _She was frightened.  
> _ _She was angry._
> 
> _Dysphoria was gripping her throat as much as she had Hugh's._
> 
> _And thankfully, everyone in the room seemingly recognized this; every single Reclamation Project staffer was trained in at least some form of de-escalation training before being accepted into the organization, no matter what division they applied for._
> 
> _Some of these very xBs, after all, may have had personal brushes with mental crises not unlike that which Queen 127 was enduring now._

One hour was dedicated to helping Troval get Hugh to _Solstice’s_ Sickbay ICU with Troval and Bartholomew, Geordi’s heart finally somewhat calming as the medical staffers confirmed proper treatment and they slipped Hugh into a specialized medical regeneration alcove.

The second two hours were dedicated to fixing the Consultation Chamber and evaluating all involved Starfleet tech. Geordi’s face was tight as he tried to focus on the diagnostic tools in his hand, rather than the sound of humming, floating drones cleaning spatters of Hugh’s blood that littered the otherwise-gleaming holo-panels.

The fourth hour was dedicated to him writing, as best he could, a full report to Starfleet and debriefing staff on what had happened- careful to denote any details of villainizing or demonizing Queen 127 for an obvious episode. 

The extra half hour, unfortunately, was consumed by a rather heated call with two Admirals starting the man down and demanding answers: a mere _six minutes_ after his report was submitted and received. 

Geordi’s headache threatened to ebb back as he remembered parts of their “conversation.”

> _“If you think you’re gonna push me into discontinuing support with Starfleet resources for her rehabilitation after this, you’re both_ wrong _, unfortunately,” Geordi held fast. “If you think a path to mental health is_ already _all smiles and rainbows for every single xB,_ especially _for someone like_ her-- _Ma’ams, you are sorely mistaken- and I would even go so far as to say you could use some refreshers from Starfleet’s counselors on how to have some_ empathy _for people_ _outside our way of life_ _!”_
> 
> _“This is not a matter of discrediting the Reclamation Project and its work, Commander!” Clancy barked back. “This is a matter of ensuring officer safety! Protocol! Recognition of the subject and her capabilities! The fact she was able to interfere with a simple Starfleet control panel and nearly murder a_ very _significant diplomat_ and _practical historical figure to the xBs? The Federation? What would’ve happened if she were to escape and wreak further havoc, La Forge, what if she--”_
> 
> “ _If you would have read my report more_ thoroughly _instead of immediately_ calling me!” _Geordi retorted, “you would have seen murder was not her_ intent, _Clancy. ‘If she wanted the Executive Director dead, she would have killed him where he stood.’ I had to--_ get him out of there, _look at him beaten to a pulp, and it's... hard? Very hard? To muster empathy for someone after that, Ma'am. Terrifying, even. But w_ _hat transpired here was an incident related to a fragile mental health state. And she is_ going _to be_ _given proper treatment for it- to allow her a shot at individual life.”_
> 
> _“Clancy, I can agree with Mr. La Forge from experience, somewhat,” Janeway interrupted. “Queens do not take shortcuts. If they want a subject dead, they will not so much as look at you before they incinerate whatever it is they want gone. And considering the previous reports submitted by the Commander… I believe_ we _might want to reconsider our tone. We haven’t even received word yet from the Cooperation Board, or spoken to Director Hugh himself; it’s not like we have an immediate diplomatic crisis on our hands.”_
> 
> _“Oh, yes- he just so_ happens _to be in an ICU, currently,” Clancy grumbled, “that’s definitely not an emergency or anything.”_
> 
> _Geordi sighed, knowing she had a point. “I know. I was the one who helped_ take _him there, Clancy.”_
> 
> _Janeway offered him a saddened expression, Clancy sighing as she leaned back in her chair and tossed her hands up._
> 
> _But she looked back to the Commander. "How are_ you _holding up, La Forge."_
> 
> _"I've been better, Ma'am. ...At least I finally got to change."_

That headache was definitely coming back. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shook his head, holding his own cheek as he waited for the Betazoid xB to emerge.

Now that Geordi was standing here- relishing in the silence and facing the separation window in _Solstice’s_ Sickbay ICU hallway, watching Hugh sleeping in a medical regeneration alcove as Troval tended to a facial medical patch… everything began to catch up to Commander La Forge. 

And Geordi realized he very, very much wanted to see Hugh wake up before he thought about doing anything else today. 

Troval, inputting a timer on a nearby UI screen and plapping their Reclamation Project combadge to put in a muted message, turned back to Hugh to give him one more lookover. Geordi’s heavy heart managed a grin as he watched the Betazoid set a teal-gloved hand on Hugh’s shoulder, rest it there... then squeeze it before turning to leave, pulling off their gloves as Troval headed towards the door. He knew Troval was a Progenitor, he knew the two probably had a long, long history with each other… but Geordi had to wonder what it was like to be _connected_ to someone else, to _be_ someone else- and then get to know them as their own separate person.

The door wooshed open for Troval as their mask was disposed of and their gloves were removed, the Betazoid sighing as she firmed her expression for the Commander. 

“Thank you for stopping by, Commander,” the Junction said quietly. “He’s doing a lot better.” 

“I can tell. I’m just happy to have him somewhere safe.”

“You’re not the _only_ one,” Troval sighed, a wave of broadcasted relief washing against Geordi’s mental shores. “Most of it was internal bleeding that his nanoprobes were quick to begin repairing; we’ve given him a dose of vascular-specialized treatment dummys to aid his native systems, so he’ll be back to previous functionality in five days, if he rests. Bruising, all his immediate impact sites; all easily tended to enough by dermal regenerators, but we’re keeping a special watch on his brain and corresponding motor function implants; he _did_ have a concussion from that second impact, so we’ll monitor him regarding that.”

Troval rolled their jaw, trying to find a kernel of good in her news.

“He _will_ have a new scar on his face, however,” she offered, “should he decide to keep it.”

Geordi felt a flicker of transmitted humor. “You think he’ll want to?” 

Troval tsk’ed. “I don’t know,” they hummed, “and that’s the treasure in giving someone a choice. It denies the false comfort in the uniformity of repeated patterns from others… and allows for variables to happen. Keeps us unpredictable. Always expanding ourselves, and all.”

“Looking for unpredictables,” Geordi repeated with a musing shrug. “Figure that must be a skill that xB medical professionals need in your line of work.”

“My job as a doctor for xBs would be a lot _easier_ ,” they humored, “and a lot more _boring_ if everyone was the same, Commander. You learn to expect the unexpected and ‘get creative,’ as hard as that can be for us to learn.” 

“I respect and admire that of your people more and more with each passing day, Junction.”

Troval, much like Hugh, looked down in a reflective flattery that left them at a loss for words.

“He has 15 minutes, 17 seconds left on his medical alcove timer for this regeneration cycle,” Troval mentioned, looking back up. “As long as you're alright waiting that long, you're welcome to linger.”

“Oh, I think I can manage,” Geordi said in a sigh. “Hope it’s alright if I hang out in there for a bit. I just want to… be there when he wakes up; I won’t stay too long after he does. And hey, that-- sounds like a perfect amount of time to sneak a quick nap in, anyway.” 

“If I may respectfully note, Commander, from the looks of it, and knowing what you’ve been through today... I would prescribe you some sleep, too.”

Geordi smirked at Troval as the Betazoid bobbed their head in the view pane’s direction. “Head in, Sir; I’ll make sure you’re undisturbed. I have my PADD synched up in case any disturbances arise, and I need to rendezvous with EMH and Bartholomew anyway.”

“Thank you, Junction. I’ll give you and Crosis a call once he’s up.”

And once Troval had begun to trot down _Solstice’s_ halls to their next destination, Geordi quietly meandered into Hugh’s room, his eyes growing heavy with weariness and treasured adoration as he began shirking duty’s demanded rigidness. 

Come to think of it, he’d only seen Hugh ever regenerate in one other place. 

_The Enterprise-D, in the brig, as a freshly-severed drone, scared out of his mind 23 years ago: wholly ignorant of the man Geordi would know today, and the person he would blossom into._

So the Commander saved himself from that perilous realization with the savored memory of one of his recent dreams, admired how peaceful Hugh looked in his little scrubs and under his blanket, and eyed the plush visitation chair that he began to take a seat and make himself cozy in.

“Guess this is as close as I’m ever gonna get to sleeping beside you, huh,” Geordi mused in a sigh, crossing his arms and slinking down further into the chair. 

His eyes were half lidded before he tossed one more glance to Hugh. 

And finally, Geordi shut his eyes and settled his shoulders. 

“Sweet dreams, Hugh.”

He hadn’t intended to _actually_ fall asleep.  
All Geordi wanted to do was shut his eyes, really. Be in Hugh’s presence.

Bask in the silence and the ambiance of a Sickbay- all while quieting the nerves and concern about Hugh’s condition Geordi had to suppress during those last four and a half hours.

But the Commander did, indeed, nod off. 

Something touching his bicep began to stir him.

The Commander was halfway through a snore when awareness came trickling in.

The something that was touching his arm… a hand, it was the grab and squeeze of a _hand,_ Geordi realized, and--

“Geordi?”

The Commander began to shift and rouse himself from that short nap, arms unfolding from his chest and eyes fluttering open, looking to see... Hugh, oh, heavens, save him; there he was, looking tired and peaceful and delighted- all in one bruised xB body...

“Hey,” Geordi murmured, his sleepy face washing over with more and more excitement by the second, “hey... good morning, you--”

The xB smiled some. “It is 1452 hours, Geordi,” he teased weakly, “that is hardly ‘morning time’ for humans, by my understanding.” 

_Barely awake and already cracking jokes?_

A weight made itself familiar in the Commander’s chest again; pondering the beauty of the man Hugh was today, and conflicting with the terror in which Geordi had to _watch_ said man be inadvertently brutalized by one of his own kin. 

So Geordi tried (and failed) to swallow the lump in his throat. “How’re you feeling.”

“Relieved,” he started off with. “Relieved, tired, and… mmn. Sore. All over. _Not_ the type of soreness I prefer, unfortunately.” 

Geordi managed a little laugh at that, turning the chair to face him and he rubbed Hugh’s hand with both of his own. “Well, don’t worry. Troval said you’ll be outta here in here five days or so- we’ll get you feeling that ‘good kind of sore’ another time.” 

Hugh acknowledged the flirt with a smirk before settling into his prone alcove. “How are _you_ feeling, dear.”

“Tired, too,” he admitted with a yawn, “I’ve been…" the yawn hit its apex, "augh, sorry-- getting you hooked up in here with Troval, repairing and diagnosing the Consultation Chamber, writing reports, talking to Starfleet, checking in with Crosis to monitor 127… it’s been a long day already. Troval even said it looked like I needed some sleep, so.”

“127,” Hugh asked with widening eyes, “is she--”

“Big guy’s doing his best,” Geordi confirmed, “and V’evik got her out of the prosthetic. She’s stable. EMH is running some rudimentary Reclamation Procedure scans to stabilize her adrenal levels, so she _might_ look a little different next time we see her, and Five’s making sure nothing on a technical level from _Solstice_ interfered with her decoupling. We’ve got a tight little operation going on here," the Commander assured, "Don't worry. You can... you rest as long as you need, h--”

Geordi’s face began to burn.   
The word “honey” had been on the tip of his tongue before he stopped himself. 

And the immensity of the fact that Geordi had to watch his newfound xB “honey” get thrown to the floor, kicked, slashed, and nearly have the life choked out of him not hours before settled unbearably on the Commander’s weathered heart- a heart that had done so good keeping it together for four and a half hours.

Geordi already lost one man in his life to a brutal murder in self-sacrifice.  
He could do it again, if the needs of the many called for it. He could stomach it for the good of the people, the galaxy- whatever stupid circumstance fate had decided to throw his heart to.

_But he sure as hell didn’t want to._

As his jaw began to shudder and he wrapped his lips in, Geordi broke Hugh’s gaze and he looked down, the hands holding Hugh’s palm resting against the crown of his head and unable to let go- as if in prayer to whatever deity spared this little former drone’s life.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Hugh, I just-- I’ve… had a man I care about,” Geordi said through a hard breath and a bobbing knee, “almost die on me from being taken by a Borg Queen before, and I just got… a little scared, that’s all. I-I see 127’s situation, I can get it: it’s hard and it’s a lot and I’m glad she let you go, but… lemme be a little selfish here, okay?” he asked, Geordi’s voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve held myself together now, so-- lemme be selfish for the beautiful little miracle I’ve got in my hands who’s safe, sound, and was able to talk a former Borg Queen down.” 

His face flushed and his heart pounded and his chest _hurt_ , ached with the thought that death, for someone so close to him, could’ve happened again. It nearly happened again- fucking _again,_ Geordi thought bitterly- the Commander would’ve had to watch it not once, but _twice,_ just like he almost lost _Data_ to a Queen until he _did_ lose him. Losing him to that butchery of a stolen Romulan warbird, the pieces of both the ship and his _husband_ exploding and bouncing off the _Enterprise’s_ shielding, and-- 

Hugh’s hand, still inside Geordi’s own two, shifted. 

While it wriggled out of his clasped palms, it did not wholly leave Geordi. 

Rather, Hugh’s hand merely slid upwards and down from the Commander’s embrace, to run down Geordi's head, then temple, to cusp Geordi’s cheek as Hugh’s thumb that bore his biochip implant gently stroked under his eye…

“I was, too. Scared, frightened, unsure of myself… But it is as I told 127.” 

He gave a little laugh, its attempted brightness littered with his own strained voice. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, if I can help it.”

At that moment, Geordi wanted nothing more than to scoop the xB up, take him into his quarters, and tuck him into bed so he could fall asleep beside him where nothing and no one could hurt him.

Instead, the Commander managed his own weak, snotty laugh, his eyes remaining shut as his palms held his face. “You better not,” he told him through a grin. “We’ve still got- a lot of work to do, you know--”

“Geordi,” Hugh urged, the xB’s thumb still brushing at his wet cheek, "look at me..."

After a few more bobs of his knee, the Commander mustered the strength and composure to look up at Hugh. 

The man’s mismatched eyes of a stare held so much… exhaustion, compassion, adoration in that tired little face of his, and--

Suddenly, the hand that had been on Geordi’s cheek slid to the back of his head, gently pulling him towards the xB.

“Come closer.”

And the Commander didn’t need to be told twice.

Quickly rising from his seat, Geordi followed Hugh’s tug and leaned over and down to kiss him sweetly on the lips. Oh, the Commander’s heart ached, ached on the border of _bursting_ with thankfulness and relief- that the man below him was coherent, that he was healing, and soon he could hug him and see Hugh back on his feet and in charge of his own agency. The taste of the xB’s kiss was sterile from Sickbay, the faint taste of blood lingering at the edge of his mouth (likely from the blood that had dribbled down his face); but his lips driving the kiss, the _individual_ behind them, was all the comfort Geordi needed to begin quelling his earlier fears and worries.

“Nearly did that when I came in here,” Geordi admitted with a smile hanging above Hugh, “but I didn’t wanna accidentally pull you out of your regeneration cycle early, or- do that without you knowing.”

“The thought enough is appreciated, dear,” the Director sighed, letting his head sink further back into the pillow, "I had to." As Geordi sat back down, Hugh’s free hand reached up to his own face; tracing over his nose and feeling the dermal patch, Hugh winced as he pressed against where 127 had gashed the skin.

“Troval said you could keep the scar, if you wanted,” Geordi offered. “The tissue wasn’t necrotic- a dermal regenerator could go right over and get rid of it, but...” 

The Commander watched Hugh purse his lips in thought. 

“I think... I will leave it, actually,” he decided. “It is… hmm.” 

Geordi allowed a silence to hang as he watched Hugh go looking for words.

“It is… nice,” he arrived at, “satisfying… knowing this would be one I gained of my own volition, I suppose. All of my scars are of my own will, of course, but- something about this one seems a bit more… ‘bombastic.’ ‘Intriguing.’ ...what do you think?” Hugh postulated, turning his head in the pillow again to look at Geordi. “Should you like to see me with it?” 

The Commander’s lips wriggled into a smile. “I’d like to see you however you _want_ to be,” Geordi offered, “but remembering what I saw of it before we got you to Sickbay, it’d look pretty neat. Nice with the rest of your face, even. Besides,” he mused, “you’d have a hell of a small-talk starter, telling people you got it from a _former Borg Queen_.” 

Hugh managed an amused, quiet laugh. “That _would_ make a riveting conversation piece, wouldn’t it,” he chuckled. “I would spare details related to her for the sake of privacy, but I _suppose_ I could indulge myself in self-made flattery.”

“Considering what you’ve done, I think you’re _more_ than due for an ‘indulgence’ or two.”

“It seems impossible to imagine further flatteries,” Hugh crooned, “when one of those ‘indulgences’ is in my presence.”

Geordi was not a man who spoke of “love” easily; but as the word danced on the tip of his tongue in reaction to the sight before him, it felt as if it was the hardest admission in the world to hold back.

Soon.  
He’d make it worth it.

Remembering his obligations of correspondence, Geordi pulled one of his hands from Hugh to hit his combadge.

“Commander La Forge to Director Second Crosis, Junction Troval,” he chimed. “Someone’s awake.”

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 10, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION COMMANDER READY ROOM**

The next five days were, thankfully, uneventful enough for Executive Director Hugh. 

Rather, there wasn’t much he was allowed to _do_ during those five days, except waft in and out of regeneration cycles.

But he found his own hallmarks by which to mark the passage of time. 

On the first day, Hugh simply “slept” as all xBs do, allowing the millions of nanoprobes in his body to help heal and repair his self-made temple of a body. At 1600 hours, during a visit from Geordi, _Solstice_ CMO Bartholomew stopped by with Mimi in a transport crate- the cat shockingly peaceful and curious to be there, despite how temperamental Hugh knew Terran cats could be. The xB made sure to archive the delight in Geordi’s eyes as Dr. Bartholomew allowed Mimi to crawl out of her arms and onto Hugh’s lap once out of the crate, the Director laughing as she found his palm-indented “scratching post” of a biochip coupling again and immediately made herself comfortable on his lap in exchange for near-constant pets.   
Hugh would have to remember to submit the proposition of testing cats or different Terran “therapy animals” to the Consultation Division once he was back on Ohniaka III.

On the second day, Troval and the EMH encouraged him to walk again, the Director taking slow and cautious steps on the clean Sickbay flooring thanks to his concussion. The two escorted him to _Solstice’s_ observation deck, where the xBs and the hologram reminisced of days long since passed in regards to Ohniaka III’s sun.   
Hugh nearly forgot how... endearing, amusing, and ‘precious’ it was to listen to two doctors talk about their own medical oddities and experiences, Hugh simply happy to stay quiet as the EMH recounted a Reclamation Procedure to a family of Brunali refugees escaping the Delta Quadrant, and Troval spoke of their recent developments in nanoprobe reconstruction therapy.

By the third day, Hugh was coherent and clear enough to be overseeing and reviewing administrative documents. Crosis, his dear friend, brought Hugh’s favorite Puerh tea as they reviewed daily itinerary together in his medical alcove, the two men avoiding the stared daggers from Troval and EMH that Hugh not work too hard during his recovery.  
And when Troval’s piercing gaze was off them both, the Executive and Second Directors exchanged their own parting kisses; for they were bound in both history and in clarity-given individuality, and the love Hugh shared for his once-brainwashed friend was made all the more poignant by the touch of Crosis’ large, gnarled palms holding his own.

By the fourth day, Hugh was ready to talk to people again. Namely, he was ready to receive visitor transmissions again: either Reclamation Project, Ohniakan comm channels, or Starfleet admirals looking to hear from the xB himself.  
In regards to the latter “visitors” in the form of two admirals on video conference (and one Fleet Admiral looking particularly perturbed), Hugh was simply happy to have Geordi at his side providing circumstantial backup to the incident with 127, Janeway’s subtle smirks and clever wordsmithing letting the xB know where she truly stood despite bureaucracy’s tight leash.

By the fifth day, Hugh was finally released from _Solstice’s_ Sickbay, the Director given a parting handshake and a hug from his shorter, Betazoid kin and a wellspring of thanks for her undivided care and expertise. After spending almost a week isolated from station functions, he was pleased to be heading to Gerordi’s Ready Room to hold a Division Lead Assembly with not only the Commander (soon to be Captain) in question, but also Director Second Crosis, Junctions Troval, Five, V’evik, Subcommander Vorik… and Queen 127 herself.  
Though he had not spoken to her since their fateful Consultation meeting on the 5th, she was apparently stabilized, even somewhat _peaceful_ thanks to Crosis, and she did indeed look a “smidge different” than the bald, veined, panicked head Hugh had last seen her, as Geordi had put it.

In Hugh’s absence, the EMH had worked his Reclamation Procedure magic as only a hologram could; ridding her body of the information-driven, anxiety-inducing nanoprobes and implants that were found to be overriding her cortical node processing. Her skin was becoming more fair and less of an ill-tinted grey and her forehead scar turned lighter, the shadow of newly-started follicle stimulation a contrast to the interface cables that still erupted from the back of her skull. Her hair was a dark brown, apparently- nearly the same color as Hugh's, and it was an odd revelation to merely know that Species 125 was capable of growing hair in the first place.

She had not requested another attempt at the prosthetic body yet, despite Crosis noting in his Consultation observations that she toyed with imaginations of how she saw herself.

The el-Aurian allowed her to dream. To recite what little musings she was willing to share about herself. 

Hugh, who would never share such tender, personal imaginations of hers with another soul, savored the fact Queen 127 was _capable_ of imagination, in just two and a half months of clarity-driven individuality.

And it made Hugh feel all the more guilty that he felt such instinct-driven fear and nervousness in regards to their first in-person meeting.

Yet Crosis’ words, thankfully, were as poignant as ever, the Director Second calming his mind before they ventured into the Ready Room together. 

> _“If at any time you need to call recess, do not hesitate to,” he had assured Hugh. “Please, my friend; you are already strong enough for being here so soon after your encounter. Do not discount your own emotional health for others’ sake.”_
> 
> _“Thank you, Crosis,” Hugh told him back. “But I feel it will be… therapeutic, despite my anxieties. Cathartic, even- for my own peace of mind; and perhaps hers, too, to see me uninjured. Unharmed. ...Mostly.”_
> 
> _“Still sore?”_
> 
> _“A bit. ...And not the good kind.”_
> 
> _Hugh smirked from Crosis’ chuckling at the Director's favorite joke. “I’m certain the Commander can help you with that later.”_
> 
> _Hugh relished in the flash of loving irritation that crossed his cheeks, Crosis’ laughing made louder as the Director playfully smacked his arm._

Sitting beside Geordi, the Director caught himself smirking at the memory as V’evik discussed Cybernetics/Engineering collaborations for her body and a possible compatibility with Atlas’ hardware to make her bodily transition smoother, the Commander playfully bumping his leg under the table. 

Hugh’s smirk spread into a smile under the hand he had resting against his lips, and the xB’s visual UI blipped a reminder for their holodeck date later tonight. 

For now, however, the Division Lead Assembly continued. 

“It will take time. But in between synthesizing my device for Atlas’ temporary storage and this new collaboration, I must ensure it is what we plan for.”

Hugh’s eyes noticed 127’s chest heave from a mere subject-related mention.

So he thought to re-enter the conversation with another perspective.

“You make an important note, Five,” Hugh acquiesced, “but we as an assembly are forgetting a critical factor in this. ...What do _you_ want, 127,” Hugh asked as gently as possible, the other gathered five turning their attention to the Queen, “and what can we do to help you _obtain_ that.” 

Queen 127, on her head’s docking apparatus and opposite to Hugh, swallowed some, straightening her jaw as her tired eyes watched the conference table’s company. 

“Wholly… I do not know yet,” she began, “at least: not fully, as much as I loathe admitting this. What I will ask of you now is merely a canvas, so that I may expand upon my current stream of consciousness.” 

She paused, then, shaking her head with a depreciative laugh. “A strange sensation, it is,” 127 mused, “to be ‘asking’ for something from you all. Comparatively, at least, to our Collective consciousness before; wouldn’t you agree?” 

Five made a sour face. “‘Strange’ is certainly a word for it.”

“You will find,” Crosis brought up, “that demands without regard for another party’s agency or complicity will not get you _far_ as an individual.” 

“No,” she agreed. “No, I suppose they don’t.” 

She mulled in her thoughts once more.

“...Grant me access to a compatible docking port that I can attach to,” she began, “one that I may interface with for cybernetic construction purposes in regards to the body. A body that is mine, but is… not, mine,” she struggled: “at least not currently. Rather, one that I would like to _make_ mine. By my own… vision. ‘Inspiration.’ Allow me to build upon that which Junction V’evik and the Cybernetics Division has begun as a vessel… and that I may make, instead, in my own image.”

This request seemed to surprise the whole table. Hugh’s mind was left reeling at the request; not out of abhorrent rejection, but rather… immensity? Possibility? The sheer _potential_ she could have for creating her own vessel, using the bones of her old body to craft it into something new. Knowing the affinity his people had for transhumanism, Hugh could hardly imagine what kind of prosthetics a former Borg Queen could create; what kind of ‘efficient’ shapes would it take, what sort of limbs could the mind that managed billions of voices envision? Most importantly, most significantly- no longer was she forcing herself into a mold that their Oppressors fashioned for her. She was to be her own person, her own identity, her own self, her own ‘manifestation’- and there was something quite powerful in the idea that a queen, abandoned by conventional ideas of royalty, could fashion her own self-made throne, and rule over her own dominion of individuality.

Geordi, however- Hugh’s dear, sweet Geordi- seemed to find which words to speak with first.

“Seems like ‘inspiration’ is getting thrown around a whole lot in this project,” Geordi mused, unable to hold back a reserved grin. “I’ll take the constructive kind of it any day.” 

Hugh had a suspicion of what the “destructive” inspiration was that Geordi implied.

So the Director followed the Commander’s lead.

“Well,” Hugh sighed with star-struck eyes. “You are your own individual after all, 127. Your _‘inspiration’_ is your own. But in my opinion, I… quite like the sound of that. The rest of the Division Lead Assembly will speak for themselves, but… I would like to verify, firstly, with V’evik and Five: is this possible?”

“Theoretically, yes,” V’evik mused, tossing a glance to Five. “I could… set up the vacant lab the Cybernetics Division has with a containment field utilizing zero-G; this would give the space and full-degree control she would require for both nanoprobe direction and dissection of the original prosthetic. Five would manage the docking port construction and zero-G installation, but I have full confidence this could be done.”

“Utilizing blueprints from the already-existing schematics we have for her head’s current docking apparatus, I could complete its synthesis today,” Five noted. “I would have to include appendages by which her thoughts could be translated into viable, working tools and environmental manipulators, but those are easily craftable enough.” 

“Remember, 127; EMH would have to continue Reclamation Procedure therapy sessions, since it wouldn’t be an _exact_ recreation of a Borg vessel your innate systems would adhere to,” Troval followed the two with. “Your organic tissues would require revitalization to be able to blend with a new piece of neural technology that stems that far into motor functions; I don’t even need to belong to the Cybernetics Division to tell you this _._ Are you... alright with that?” 

“I _appreciate_ the disclaimer,” 127 noted, “but I feel at this point… change is to be expected. Inform the EMH that I will be willing to ‘endure’ his appointments. ...Or, yours-- however this works.” 

Troval winked. “He might not _render_ himself with much hair, but you've seen yourself he’s got a way with follicle stimulators.”

“Vorik and I could ensure you would have other Federation species’ current and updated references to prosthetic advancements and technologies,” Geordi offered, the Vulcan at his side nodding in agreement. “Your synchronized knowledge is about 17 years out of date; the least we could do is offer some information.” 

Vorik nodded. “It seems as if I have found a cataloguing project for the day, then.”

“Speaking of… 'projects,’” the Queen interjected, “Unrelated to your ‘Reclamation’ or ‘Atlas’... what will I do, now that I am here? I had… admittedly, not-- thought this far ahead. With relation to this form of existence. Crosis,” she said with a bob of her head, “only poised the thought to me recently, and… I see many units, onboard this station. Many... people. Many hands, many voices- working towards their own itinerary, yet united in an overall purpose. But I… I do not. Have one. Yet. ...And if I will be spending time here building a body,” she told them, “I would like to be given an assignment. To prove my worth as an individual.” 

Hugh’s brow furrowed. “You are not… _solely_ deemed by your worth in relation to production, 127,” he told her gently. “Your life matters to us in equal value, whether you are working within the Project or merely existing onboard whichever station or starship. Y--”

The piercing nature of her stare, admittedly, unsettled the Director for a fleeting second.

She had noticed Hugh’s new scar.

And her expression, thankfully, softened in response. “No. Allow me to at least _proceed_ towards a current purpose,” she said back, “a tangible _goal_ that I must reach and be driven towards. Let me at least… _aim_ for something, while I aim for the idea of clarity. My… ‘self.’”

Hugh launched his mind into a series of microcalculations to try and formulate what she could do, what she could even--

“I’ve got an idea,” Geordi offered with a point of his finger.

If 127 was linked to her arms, it looked as if she would be crossing them as she resettled in her shoulders. “Oh?” she hummed, the rest of the Junctions looking to Geordi as well, “and what might that be, Commander La Forge.” 

“Help us solve the mystery of how you and the Sphere even got here in the _first_ place,” he resumed, Hugh feeling his own brow raise at the proposition. “Once your body is done, of course. Give us full compliance in both physical and data-based research and assistance regarding technological observations and circumstantial evidence. We know there’s been some sort of subroutine protocols installed and the data’s gone from yours, the drones', and Atlas’ ends, sure, but... _you_ might be able to help us get to the bottom of this. And hey, who knows; maybe it could bring you _and_ Atlas some closure about what happened, not to mention get to tour your old ‘home’ and see how renovations are coming along with the Atlas Project. How does that sound?”

_Outstanding, Geordi._

A hopeful glint could be seen in Queen 127’s eyes. 

“I do not... know how _helpful_ I will be in this quandary, considering the circumstances,” she reminded, “but I will comply. That is enough of a…” 

And suddenly, that hopeful glint turned into a kernel of clarity-fueled realization. 

“A ‘project’... for me to bury ‘myself’ in.” 

By the amused looks on everyone’s faces, her selection of words was not lost on the crowd.

“Let us begin with something simple, then,” Crosis started. “Junction V’evik: would you share with her the imprint of what you were left with from your interface with Atlas?” 

“‘A person, a place, and a road’ existing as one shared entity,” they followed the Commander with, “that is all I was able to glimpse from my ill-fated interface with Atlas’ core data logs of erasure. I do not wish to ponder on this phrase again too deeply, admittedly- lest I earn myself another... _epistaxis_ during our meeting.”

She gave Crosis an unamused look. “If you are expecting me to have some sort of grandiose, dramatic realization upon my hearing of that phrase, you are going to be disappointed,” she told the Director Second. “My sisters in their eradication of that information is frustrating as it is thorough.”

“Hmm. Well,” Geordi said after a sigh, “looks like we all have some work to do in the meantime, 127.”

“No,” she cut off. “No more of that.”

Hugh looked up from his PADD. 

The rest of the gathering was silent to allow her space to elaborate.

“That title is now a mockery. I am no more a ‘Queen’ than any ruler who abdicates or is removed from their throne. It is a delusion to maintain a false title for my own placating of mind.”

Hugh shrugged for her sake. “‘Delusion’ feels like a bit of a harsh word for your circumstance, but of course.”

“Have you… thought of something else?” Crosis tested. 

“Yes.” 

Vorik raised an eyebrow. “That being?”

She pursed her lips, as if rolling the word on her tongue as a tester.

“Call me… ‘Id,’ if you would.”

> _[Id]  
> _ _[The part of the psyche, residing in the unconscious- the source of instinctive impulses]  
> _ _[That which seeks satisfaction in accordance with the pleasure principle]_

A side of Hugh’s lips tugged upward in a cautious grin, catching the Junctions’ and Geordi’s glances of amusement and acceptance. 

How fitting. 

“Well,” Geordi sighed as he settled into his seat, “Glad to be on the same page with you, Id. When’d the inspiration for that strike?”

“0314 hours. I accessed various resources and files related to mental states and theories of psychology in an effort to ascribe a condition to myself, and while I have found this line of thinking and its author is _flawed,_ for a number of reasons,” she elaborated, “I found this word, this-- _designation_ , to be the most…”

She, Id, pursed her lips, eyes glancing around the table. “‘Relatable.’”

Hugh played along. “Fitting?”

Troval piped up with a grin. “Embodying.” 

The Betazoid xB’s emotional broadcasting must have kicked in, as Five spoke up next. “Appropriate.”

“Relevant,” V’evik offered with a raise of an eyebrow.

Vorik followed after them. “Pertinent.”

“Applicable,” hummed Crosis.

Hugh’s grin grew into a smirk when he noticed the “end of the line” was Geordi, waiting for the Commander’s answer.   
Geordi’s thumb rubbed at his lower lip for a moment before offering the table his own smirk.

“Perfect.” 

A sly little thought of “ _Yes you are, dear”_ skirted through Hugh’s beautifully singular mind.

“Well then, Id…” Hugh said gently, straightening in his chair and allowing himself a grin. “Happy Namesake Day.”

Amidst some smirks traded between the Junctions, Id frowned and her brow raised. “Mn. A Federation holiday, I assume.”

And Hugh was happy to hear Geordi speak up first, waving finger and rebutting with an “Ohhhhnonono” on his end. “Quite the opposite, actually,” the Commander elaborated. “But I think the xB station staffers would be happier to explain it themselves- wouldn’t you agree, Director?”

“Very much so, Commander,” Hugh picked up. “I believe my _own_ Namesake is known well enough; would anybody else care to share theirs?” 

“I submit Crosis,” Five piqued with a smirk. “If he can captivate _Klingons_ with its story, then no doubt he will explain Namesake well enough to Id.” 

The former Queen raised her brow. “Klingons?”

And the Director’s happiness settled into a smirk as his large friend chuckled beside him. 

“You’ll hear soon enough. Crosis: care to explain?”

“It would be my pleasure, Director.”

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
HOLODECK 1**

The sound of Geordi's leather dress shoes rapped against the holodeck's hardwood floor. “You’re _sure_ you’re alright to be moving around like this, Hugh?” 

“It has been _five days,_ Geordi; I’m certain I will manage, and my internal diagnostics have given me permissible readings. Besides; Troval encouraged me to ‘get on my feet again.’” 

“Uh-huhhh, sure; how do _I_ know they’re just not trying to set you up on a date.” 

Geordi smirked as he listened to Hugh chuckle, the Commander holding out a hand for his partner to take. “Well, when you vocalize it like _that_ … perhaps I could formulate some other theories now, too.” 

The Director took his hand gently, gingerly, butterflies swarming in Geordi’s stomach as he felt Hugh’s hand and arm snake around the back of his waist. 

“I don’t think I’ve tried tango in abouuut… 12? 13 years?” Geordi teased. “Go easy on me.” 

“Not to worry,” Hugh assured him. “Forgive my overabundance of research, but I made sure to download a tango routine of the Uruguyan type I found that was both intriguing, yet simple enough for newcomers to follow.” 

“But ‘intriguing’ enough where Beverly’s gonna be impressed as all hell, and _I’m_ gonna have more fun than I’ve had in awhile, right?”

Hugh’s growing smile was contagious. 

“That was one of the most important deciding factors.”

The Commander was happy to hear it confirmed. 

So, with an evening smirk and snap of his ringed fingers, he called out: “Computer, play most recent downloads- in descending order.”

With the Midway Gala only two weeks away, Geordi and Hugh knew they had to practice for Beverly's challenge and stop dancing around the subject, both literally and metaphorically. It was during Hugh's stay in _Solstice's_ Sickbay that cemented the decision that he and Geordi should start already, spurring the Commander to whip up a holodeck setting of a rather striking dance studio hung in some far-off starbase's view. The Commander was dressed in rather striking, civilian attire tonight- not a Starfleet badge or pip to be seen, Geordi wore a long necklace with his hands decorated in rings, a patterned black button-down with sleeves rolled up his arms, deep-crimson trousers with suspenders keeping him together. Hugh, happy to be out of both uniform _and_ Sickbay scrubs, donned typical Ohniakan III fashion; silver and gold jewelry smithed in rather geometric fashions, his dress shirt resembled a high bolo-tie collar that swept down into a simple, dress-like shirt, high black boots... 

Geordi mused if this could be a future snapshot of somewhere in a life together, once the Atlas Project was done. Even if but for a fleeting allowance of Shore Leave.

He could see that.   
He could like that.   
He hoped Data would approve.

But his train of thought on that was broken, admittedly, Geordi having to catch himself from a misstep on both their parts and their hands tightening to avoid a fall.

“It’s as I’ve said,” Hugh admitted in a breathy laugh, “downloading information on a topic is one manner. Actually _executing_ it, oh; that is an entirely _different_ feat in of itself.”

“If it helps,” Geordi assured, “you’re doing great.”

“You are outstanding as well.”

They continued on for another handful of minutes, Geordi happy to be led and help compliment the xB's graceful, if sometimes stiff steps. But the more they practiced, the looser and more natural Hugh allowed his posture to be as the one who knew the routine, the Commander smirking as he realized it was probably Hugh simply adapting. Learning, as he and his people were so skilled at from inherency, and "getting the hang" of the dance- just as any sapient being would, xB or not. While still stiff on a proceeding turn, Geordi found his back leaning against Hugh's chest with the xB's hand against his own chest, barely pushing inwards as Hugh's other hand traced Geordi's rising arm... and he felt the xB's nose rest against the back of his ear, Hugh's breath dangerously close to the nape of Geordi's neck.

Geordi lingered in the moment. “We’ll have to keep it a bit more chaste for the gala, you know.”

“Oh, of course,” Hugh agreed, the xB’s voice barely above a husky breath, “but that does not mean we should have to limit ourselves _here,_ should it?” 

The edge of Geordi’s lips crooked upwards as his eyes fluttered to savor the moment. 

“No,” he agreed, “absolutely not.” 

So they had their fill of fun in the simulated dance studio with a window that oversaw a planet's sunrise. Once they deemed themselves winded and thinking of other things from the blessed allure of their shared dance, space, routine, and intimacy, they continued that fun in the Commander's bedroom that Geordi led the Director back to- his ringed hands antsy, anticipatory, and excited to be touched where their dancing had teased what could be.

And just as they had danced, Hugh took the lead tonight, the xB continuing his adaptive, domineering, but well-learned "routines" of his own.

Not that Geordi complained.  
Oh, he could object in hissed swears, gripe against in huffed breaths, and even make his opinion _known_ in teasing or hollering protest; but Geordi would _never_ complain.

After a shared sonic shower and Geordi took Hugh back to the xB wing of _Solstice,_ the Commander donned his own Starfleet-insignia robe and prepared for bed, leaving the magic of a dermal regenerator tending to hickies for future Geordi to worry about.

Before the sheets that still smelled of Hugh could escort him to sleep, Geordi thought about what life thrummed in the Atlas Project. 

He imagined Id: as only a head attached to a docking and a welder’s protective headpieces shielding her eyes, perhaps building and shaping her new body as sparks flew around her- built from the skeleton of what the Cybernetics team dredged up from a Borg-like underworld. 

He invented a scene of V’evik and Vorik meditating together in the Vulcan xB’s quarters, scents of dried herbs as both tea and burning incense from the two’s home planet filling the room as they made peace with their thoughts from the day.

He could picture Crosis cleaning his protective “eyepatch” of metal in front of a bathroom mirror before regeneration; his palms, so large, gnarled, and careful, tending to the metal crescent in his hands that covered tender, scarred skin where an augment once fell from his sunken, white-as-snow face.

He thought of Five, perhaps returning to her quarters to greet Two of Ten after her shift in Atlas’ hull; Geordi wondered how xBs greeted each other as couples after a long day’s work, if they enjoyed the mundanities of domesticity as any de-assimilated engineer and operations officer did.

He wondered what Atlas did during the nights aboard his own hull; if he simply went into dormancy and retreated into his amalgamated hologenerator, or if the AI-turned-hologram went wandering the halls of his own self- either in a digital realm of his archived library, or the metal corridors where he watched over his multitude of dormant drones.

He created a scene of the EMH and Troval cackling over a table in _Solstice’s_ bar; it was known Troval enjoyed the taste of synthale, and since the Doctor had arrived the two had seemingly, sardonically, picked up right where the two medical professionals left off, in their camaraderie and shared stories of xB operations.

He spared a thought for CMO Bartholomew; most likely in her quarters with Mimi, the tiny tabby loafed on top of a folded blanket as the cat watched her owner fiddle with a new PADD game developed out of Stardust City.

And most preciously, before Geordi began to wade out to sleep’s welcoming shores, he thought of Hu--

His PADD vibrated on the end table.   
The Commander’s eyes creaked open.

By the type of vibration, he could tell it was the non-duty related conversation messenger. 

_Ugh._

If it was just _one_ personal message, he’d leave it be until morning, Geordi thought- no need to push himself, and he needed some slee--

The PADD buzzed again. 

_Ugggh_. 

An audible ‘ugggh’ rumbled Geordi's throat while he lazily rolled over to fetch the PADD, his hand fumbling in the dark until he slapped and grabbed the square thing. Thankful his cybernetic eyes saved him from the near-painful brightness of a screen, the notifications lit up, and--

**RECLAMATION PROJECT PERSONNEL:** **EXEC. DIR. HUGH**

> **> I know it is late. I apologize.   
> > If you are still awake, may I enter?**

And as Geordi’s eyes boggled open and his heart fell clear into his ass (and the “Read” notification appeared on Hugh’s end of the app), the Commander heard a meek little knock tap against the door.

Was he just? Standing by himself out there in the hallway!?

Geordi mumbled a “computer: open, enter, grant entry, whatever” as he rolled out of bed and reached for his evening robe, clad only in his underwear as he tied the sash and heard the living room’s door woosh open and allow the xB inside. The Commander rubbed his eyes and recognized a timid “Geordi?” eck out of Hugh, Geordi’s heart lifting some as he left his bedroom and saw the Director standing in the very same outfit he’d dropped him off in.

“Hey you--” the Commander said before a long yawn, “how long were you--” he paused for yet another yawn, “augh, sorry-- how long were you standing out there?”

“I’m-- I am sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I-”

“No, no no,” Geordi assured him as he finally reached Hugh and mushed his own face, “I was _just_ about there, but you got me right before I conked out… everything okay, Hugh, did you leave something here?” the Commander asked, “You alright?”

“Yes, Geordi,” the xB assured him, “or-- no, I did-- _not_ leave something here, but I--”

Geordi watched Hugh’s jaw falter.

“I… I, ah…” 

Humor nipped at Geordi’s sleep-encrusted thoughts. “Back for more?”

Hugh swallowed and bit his lower lip after a little smile of a laugh, Geordi pulled further and further out of sleepiness’ haze by how cute Hugh was when he was flustered or nervous. Geordi hadn’t seen the poor man this stunned since he held Hugh’s arm all the way back in September, what could he be--

“May I sleep with you tonight?” 

Geordi was gobsmacked as his half-lidded eyes were suddenly fully-blown open.

_Sleep? In his bed? With him? At night? For the whole night?!_

“You…” Geordi bobbed his head as if to follow Hugh’s insinuations, “you mean-- _sleep_ sleep,” he confirmed, “like… _over_ , not-- regenerati _\--”_

“Let me sleep with you, Geordi,” Hugh asked him again, his voice bordering on pleading. “I know you were-- very courteous, walking me to my quarters after our activities tonight, but I… I have spent these past five days in regeneration cycles in an almost _overabundant_ amount, I feel like. And on a personal admittance, the-- isolated nature of my experience with Id, although she is remorseful, it is-- still weighing heavy on me,” he noted with a self-deprecating laugh. “I will be seeing a Consultation division member tomorrow to help me further process the trauma from this event, I assure you. I _also_ assure you that I will be well-rested enough for my duties tomorrow if I _do_ sleep with you tonight. I promise. I simply, I… would you allow me this, Geordi?” he murmured in a sheepish voice. “Again, I am-- sorry I did not vocalize this earlier before you escorted me back, and I disturbed your sleep just now, but I--”

The xB stopped, his jaw shuddering again. “I was--”

If Hugh said “lonely,” Geordi was going to start sobbing and scoop Hugh up in a hug right then and there- the way he said that word still just as poignant and heartbreaking as it was all those years ago.

So instead, to keep both himself awake and his heart afloat from the outpouring of sincerity, Geordi placed his hands on Hugh’s biceps and held him steady. “I… of course, Hugh, baby; you’re _always_ welcome,” Geordi assured, moving his grasp up to relax on his shoulders and offering a smile to the man in the dim light. “I just-- I know regenerating keeps you from maybe having nightmares, is that gonna be--”

“An individuality-fueled instinct tells me, Commander,” Hugh interrupted, “that I do not need to fear dreams. At least-- not tonight. And who knows- perhaps... they have grown somewhat _pleasant_ in my avoidance of them overall, and I do not have to fear them as I once did.” 

So Geordi, moving his hands from Hugh’s shoulders up to the xB’s face, cradled Hugh's in his palms and kissed him- the plush, soft sleeves of his evening robe cushioning the other man just as much as his lips did. 

“Okay,” Geordi spoke softly. “Come to bed then, dear.” 

Hugh smiled. “Gladly.” 

“I snore a little bit, as a head’s up.”

“I predict I will actually _enjoy_ hearing it for the second time.” 

Geordi raised a brow. “‘Second?’” 

“I had a small preview of it in _Solstice’s_ Sickbay five days ago.” 

_Oh._  
Wait, did-- Hugh watch him sleep, or--

And with flushed, aching cheeks, Geordi’s hands pulled themselves from Hugh’s face with a little ruffle to the xB’s hair, leading him back to the room where they had their fill of fun not an hour earlier. 

As they got ready for bed, Geordi wondered how on earth he could get to sleep now with the thrill that buzzed in his gut. What did Hugh look like while sleeping, he wondered as he helped the Director out of his Reclamation Project vest harness? Would he sleep like the dead- on his back, stiff as he would stand in a regeneration alcove? Or would he sleep on his side- curled into a ball, and show either his implant-spattered, scar-painted back to Geordi? Did he toss? Turn? Say things in a mumbling little voice? How would the bedhead fall over Hugh’s ocular implant remnants, how easy (or hard) would it be to wake him up and rouse him from sleep’s sweet embrace? An amusing situation came in the form of Hugh, after having neatly folded his clothes and laying them on a low drawer unit, stood staring at the bed in nothing but his underwear and a spare house robe Geordi had given to him to wear. 

“What... side do I go on?” he asked meekly, looking to Geordi and waiting for the Commander’s approval or instruction. “Is there a side you prefer more? One you would want me on?”

Geordi’s heart ached in reflection before he responded; for it was incredible that the same man who could ravish and so wonderfully please him on those same sheets, was now overwhelmed and awestruck by the simple concept of choosing what side of the bed to sleep on.

“I’ll let _you_ choose that, Hugh,” Geordi told him back. “Guest’s privilege.” 

The xB’s eyes creased with both fondness and understanding of his gesture. “I will have... the _right_ side, then,” he mused, pointing at the corresponding side’s uncrumpled sheets, “since that doesn’t appear to be the one you were sleeping on before I stirred you.”

Geordi watched with a curious smirk as Hugh rolled his tongue against his cheek before he continued.

“But I want the left side’s _pillow_.”

 _His_ pillow, then.   
Smooth, Hugh.

By the time they were both beneath the sheets, alarms were set, pillows were traded, and the lights were turned off, Geordi and Hugh indulged themselves in one more round of kisses, Geordi offering a silent prayer that he’d wake up a _smidge_ before his alarm to indulge themselves further than just kisses in the morning. With the way their arrangement worked, Hugh was turned towards Geordi on the side where his “eyebrow” and three implant remnants were unobscured by the cushion of the pillow, Geordi’s hand post-kissing rising from Hugh’s neck to his face to brush his thumb against the metal things. Even if Hugh ended up turning the other way during the night, Geordi had to wonder something aloud as he rubbed at the spot, his dimple smushing against his (newly traded) pillow. 

His eyes flickered to the newly-congealed scar that bisected Hugh's imager line and ran over his nose.

“When I touch them,” he asked quietly, “it doesn’t hurt, does it? Or… better question: how far down does the feeling go?” 

Hugh’s blue eye watched him with a sleepy amusement. “It _used_ to hurt,” he told him, “when my imager was no longer compatible with me. I did not have the plating underneath it removed until Reconstitution, but these in particular were the ‘anchor points,’ so to speak. The sensations have… dulled- _changed_ somewhat overtime,” Hugh elaborated, “but physical touch remains poignant. I feel it down to the bone, for _all_ my augments- where the metal blends with my organic frame.”

_An organic frame._

What a beautiful way to put it, he thought; a reclaimed tabernacle that Hugh made himself, a body to house a spirit “crafted with the tools they stole or Reclaimed from their Oppressors”... Whether it was the genuine beauty of the inadvertent poetry or sleepiness’ affection making itself more known, the Commander was struck silent by these words, his mouth trying to open and speak to no avail.

“Geordi?”  
“I love that,” the Commander finally said, a sleepy smile skirting along his greying beard. “Sorry Hugh, I just… love listening to you talk about it. Talk about yourself.”

There was something _else_ he loved too, Geordi thought. But not now.

Make that confession count.  
Make it good.  
Make it memorable. 

“The sentiment is mutual, Geordi.” 

But oh, how tempting it was to tell Hugh it now. 

Keeping those words back with mustered, sleepy strength, Geordi simply smiled and papped Hugh’s cheek again, stole a quick peck on the cheek, and shimmied down into the covers and getting more comfortable against the xB. "Wake me up if you need anything or something’s the matter, okay?”

“I will.” 

"Mm. 'night, Hugh."  
"Goodnight, Geordi."

He didn’t want this to end.  
 _He didn’t want this to end._

_Never to end._

_Never._

And Commander Geordi La Forge, with Executive Director Hugh, slept the best he had in recent memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. thanks for the ride || when id is holding hugh, it is ABSOLUTELY referencing the classic "Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan" painting. it was an imagination that really stuck with me even when i was beginning to develop this fic and it's SO satisfying finally getting to render it || hugh's scar is actually ON HIS PICARD!ERA FACE, it's the little one that's kinda random that goes over his nose and i was like "huh what's that from" and i made my Own House in that canon || i spent way too fucking long on walks trying to think of a proper song for hugh and geordi to be doing tango to so think of something u like :) || thanks again, god bless, and here we go


	17. prestige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has secrets. Even a supposedly evenly-equal Hivemind- ESPECIALLY when that supposedly equal Hivemind has Queens that may have ulterior motives. 
> 
> Who, then, pays the price for when those truths are finally excavated? 
> 
> In which: a titan learns the heartfelt weaknesses that plague individuality, a shell is cracked further, a daughter comes closer to home, and the station co-managers, unceremoniously, share a smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting into the latter half of part 2, yahoo !!!!!!!!!!!!!! two more chapters after this and we're done and i'll start prep for act 3 !!! || PLEASE ENJOY THESE NEW CHARACTER PORTRAITS of the slightly spoiler crew; again created by the ever-wonderful @mycorob on twitter!!! please commission him :) https://twitter.com/raijuTheHyeju/status/1321541993768448000?s=20 || you get a bit of a spoiler how id's body turns out but also consider: she knows you are Looking || -raises a glass- this one's for you, disco freaks || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 20, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION COMMANDER READY ROOM**

**‘ _Observations of Ohniaka III: A One-Year Liberated Borg Cooperation Societal Documentation_ ,  
As According to Starfleet Lt. Cmdr. Dr. Amadeus O’Reilly (Edited and Supervised by Reclamation Project Junction Horus)’  
  
>Supplemental Material**

> #### Excerpted Audio Log - INTRODUCTORY INTERVIEW OF SUPERVISOR JUNCTION HORUS BY LT. CMR. DR. AMADEUS O'REILLY - STARDATE 67286.73
> 
> `[AUTO-GENERATED TRANSCRIPT -34.23 MINUTES-]`
> 
> **[O'REILLY]:** Ha, well! Thank you again for helping me with the bags; I tried to travel light, but I at least _promise_ my cookware won't be sitting idly by and collecting dust here.  
>  **[HORUS]:** It is an assistance I am able and willing to give for someone I will be _hosting_ for an entire Ohniakan year.   
> **[O'REILLY]:** `[laughter] `Oh, I hope you're not sick of me by the end of it.  
>  **[HORUS]:** To be 'sick' regarding a presence implies that I would be _plagued_ by said presence. _Infected_ by an invading body, that presence possibly _detrimental_ to my functions as an individual. Let us hope, for both of our sanctity, you are not that kind of presence _either_ , and that Starfleet's sent 'ambassador' of observance is willing to document our home without the manufactured bias that xBs have been so plagued by.  
>  **[O'REILLY]:** Ah... r-right, of course... `[clears throat]` So! Junction Horus: I understand that you are a 'Progenitor' xB, correct? One from the original crash of Cube 5219 in 2368?   
> **[HORUS]:** Cubesfall, yes- that is correct.  
>  **[O'REILLY]:** 'Cubesfall?'   
> **[HORUS]:** It is a term we have given to the Stardate marking when Cube 5219 fell to Ohniaka III.   
> **[O'REILLY]:** A holiday, then?   
> **[HORUS]:** I would not call an occasion that led to the immediate death of 2,957 of my former home's complement a 'holiday,' Doctor.   
> **[O'REILLY]:** Ah, I- apologize deeply, Junction. I can only ask you forgive my ignorance in the matter.   
> **[HORUS]:**`[sighs]` I do. You had no prior way of knowing beforehand. And I must remind myself, too, that innate knowledge is _different_ than taught experience to others as an individual.  
>  **[O'REILLY]:** I am thankful for your patience and willingness to educate someone like myself, Junction. I understand, also, that you are a member of the Reclamation Project's Consultation Division as a 'Public Discourse Host?' Would you elaborate on this, before I attend one of your oversight sessions?  
>  **[HORUS]:** I will. Public discourse among xBs is less of an accusatory debate, and aligned more with the _secondary_ definition of discourse; where we extrapolate upon and _discuss_ our varying experiences and secrets as individuals, versus the instilled knowledge we are so burdened with and indentured to as drones of the Hive.  
>  **[O'REILLY]:** 'Secrets,' you say? From what I have been told, xBs are a rather 'honest' people. Frank, even, to a fault.   
> **[HORUS]:** Depending on who is asked. We call it 'efficient,' some even call it ' _rude_...'   
> **[O'REILLY]:**`[chuckles``]` Of course. But for a people that have been seen as so honest... what 'secrets' could there be?   
> **[HORUS]:** Well...   
> `[silence, resettling sounds of seats in furniture, 5.19 seconds``]`   
> **[HORUS]:** They are... less of _intended_ secrets _,_ Doctor, and more of discovering what more there _could_ be. A secret, by raw definition, is something kept hidden or unexplained; a mystery, something kept from the knowledge of others, and shared only confidentially with a few. Therefore... the secret behind knowledge is, at least partially, experience itself. When one, when an entire _people_ is given so much in knowledge and information... it takes a very, very long time delve further inward and create the _person_ behind it. Compare it, as you would, to reading a single book, versus being made to explain an entire _library_. A library, mind you, that we did not originally _ask_ for, and were forced into. It is... a process of unearthing. Of what context gifts unto experience. We, xBs, are united by a common Oppressor, and yet _all_ of our experiences- all our Reprisals, our Namesakes- even how we came into _contact_ with the Collective and how we grow _after_ our severances... they are all different. Infinite fractals originating from a common, binding truth; that were all one... and now we are _not._ Perhaps there will be secrets that we uncover we had no intention of even finding in the first place, secrets of both the Borg as a whole and the individual bodies that make _up_ the Collective... `[hums pensively``]` just as you are a secret to me, Doctor.  
>  **[O'REILLY]:** Me?   
> **[HORUS]:** Yes. I shall compare you to the "book" metaphor I spoke of earlier, and describe what I learned from your dossier. Human, 21 years of service in Starfleet as a xenoanthropologist author, Lieutenant Commander, aged 43 Terran years, from a place on Terra Prime called 'Cornwall...' this is the basis of factual knowledge. And in experience as an individual, I believe I will discover more as I coexist with you beyond that base knowledge. For example: I have learned a secret about you, even since the start of this recording.   
> **[O'REILLY]:** And what is that?   
> **[HORUS]:** You, Doctor, are willing to learn. To concede when you have made a misstep. To question. ...And apparently... you _cook_ , to some degree.  
> `[indiscernible chuckling, 6.21 seconds``]`   
> **[O'REILLY]:** If i may be so bold as to declare, Junction Horus- I believe I can see why you assist with discourses. And _if_ I may continue my boldness... I am mesmerized by what secrets I may uncover from Ohniaka III, but also you as my guide.  
>  **[HORUS]:** It seems we have much to learn from each other, Doctor.

Something was happening to Commander Geordi La Forge. 

Or, perhaps; he was just starting to _notice_ it happening. 

Maybe it had begun all the way back during the _start_ of this project, the Commander mused to himself. Maybe he was _overreacting_ , even; it could be that the engineer in him was simply trying to tackle a new problem that was actually as small as an isolinear rod needing a replacement, instead blowing it out of proportion into the significance of a warp core breach. _Maybe_ , even, he'd just spent too long in a stuffy, secluded Starfleet office; torn from the clockwork synergy of Utopia Planitia, away from the fast and fleeting footwork that a starship's engineering room could handle, and even a foreigner to the thrill and open mindedness exploring the galaxy offered any officer in Starfleet.

But whatever it was, it had finally gotten noticeable enough to where this phenomenon was all bewildering, fascinating, and even an alluring type of "harrowing" to the Commander.

Because to the unfamiliar officer, a Station Commander saying that he _might_ be experiencing tangential _mental and physical side effects_ of being onsite with about 3,500 xBs and _dating_ one at the same time would probably sound a little alarming. 

_Especially_ to the xB in question that Geordi was dating.

The clues began as crumbs of physical evidence. Ten days ago, after he and Hugh slept overnight in the same bed for the first time, Geordi awoke feeling as if he'd either fallen asleep in an Andorian sauna, or had a full round of cellular regeneration. At the time, he blamed it on the giddiness of actually waking up with Hugh at his side for once, the Commander and Director washing away morning grogginess with shared kisses beneath the sheets and a sonic shower to boot. But compared to the next morning when Hugh was _not_ there, the sensation lingered, albeit in far less potency as to when the xB _was_ there. Geordi felt stronger. More energized. His temples where the Commander's VISOR once rested did not ache with such severity, nor warrant trips to sickbay for pain relievers for the once-a-week chronic migraine. Neither did Geordi's joints didn't ache or creak like they had in mornings prior; even in his daily stretches before trimming his beard, Geordi felt a greater _"awareness"_ of his body; as if he could sense every ligament moving beneath his skin, muscles gliding against bone and brow... 

This was, to say, nothing of his observed mental phenomena. 

Geordi _could_ theorize that perhaps this was due to the passion he felt himself ingrained with this project; the very _nature_ of these grounds was something the Commander was... learning from. Adapting to. Teaching him, just as much as Starfleet and Reclamation Project personnel were teaching and learning from each other. And now? After three months of working with Borg tech and working with the xB staffers? Solutions came fast. His eyes followed his thoughts at lightning speed, and he reacted to absorbing information from his implants' UI a little more naturally. Geordi even felt as if he was beginning to understand, at the very least, the _basics_ of Atlas' monotone, bone-rumbling Language of Information whenever he was onboard the sphere. Like trying to catch leaves in a gusting wind, it was not at all a native tongue, but he managed to notice a common "phrase" or two; Geordi found himself parsing out small fragments like "analysis," "diagnostics," "decks" whenever Hugh or Five translated for him, and Geordi must have looked very concentrated while riding in one of sphere's turbolifts with Vorik at his side, the Vulcan asking what Geordi was staring at so intently. 

And then there was the matter of Hugh.   
Oh, Hugh. 

Geordi's weathered, widowed heart hadn't known this much joy working alongside a partner since the _Enterprise-E_ (and even her predecessor, even if unwed to Data). The Commander's mind was like a steel trap with Hugh; remembering every one of his implants and their varying sensitivies, noticing the xB's little quirks and physical fidgetings, Geordi skillfully catching a PADD the xB might absently toss his way. His heart pined for the man and even skirted thoughts similar to how Geordi supposed Hugh might think, he listened to stories of Ohniaka III from Hugh just as _he_ told the xB about his life in Starfleet. Even his libido hadn't been this lively since the 70s; Geordi's confidence in his sexuality hadn't been this affirmed since he wore a wedding ring before its untimely storage, and Geordi could say with some confidence that he was _good_ at what he and Hugh did- with or without rope (to which Hugh, thankfully, readily affirmed). 

So Geordi chalked it up to love.   
A love, admittedly, they both still had yet to verbally admit to one another- as Geordi knew and read about how sacred this sort of relationship was to xBs.

In short: Geordi La Forge hadn't felt this great since Data was in his life.

Perhaps this was why it took so long to notice what was happening to him.

But after last night's dream and this morning's second, bed-shared awakening with Hugh, Geordi couldn't ignore this phenomena anymore.

It was why today, in between field work and waiting for Junction Five to say she was ready for the first test deployment of Atlas' storage device, Geordi had begun unearthing every scrap of supplemental material he could from Dr. Amadeus O'Reilly- the author of the material he'd been so thoroughly pouring over during his tenure on the Atlas Project. Thankfully, it seemed, the xenoanthropologist was enthusiastic as he was thorough, the audio recordings providing Geordi some amiable listening as he chipped away at mindless administrative duties. By the time Geordi approached the end of the Doctor and Junction's conversation, he had begun typing a message of inquiry to the xenoanthropologist, as to not suddenly bombard the man with questions at the gala in seven day's time. 

> `[STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE - ENCRYPTED MESSAGE - CONFIRMED 4632635.xx.3245]  
>  [CMR (CAPTAINCY PENDING) GEORDI LA FORGE]  
>  SUBJECT: Greetings from the Atlas Project - Personal Query Regarding Doctoral Publications`
> 
> `Doctor O'Reilly:`
> 
> `I hope this message finds you well on the Cooperation homeworld, as I (among others) eagerly await your attendance to the Federation-Cooperation Midway Gala for the Atlas Project on the 27th. Your publication _"Observations of Ohniaka III"_ has been invaluable to my staff and I's time here these past three months, and while I feel we have a plethora of material to share discussion upon our in-person meeting, I am pleased to report many Starfleet personnel have begun to pick up the study of LBSL upon your recommendation (and my urging).`
> 
> `I also ask that any discussed subjects herein remain on a confidential and extremely need-to-know basis.`
> 
> `While my time overseeing the Atlas Project alongside Executive Director Hugh has been nothing short of illuminating, enriching, and invigorating, I am writing to you regarding further personal queries I have regarding shared work environments between xBs and non-xBs, and was curious as to whether or not you had any other supplemental material regarding a certain phenomena I have noticed in my time with the Liberated Borg. |`

Geordi, staring at the flashing text line, tapped his cheek as he rubbed his chin in thought.

Should he say anything else for now? Leave that as a hook, and let Dr. O'Reilly press further in a reply?

He alternated between writing and deleting over and over.  
And as he typed, Geordi, again, lingered on the memories of the morning... and the dream itself that inspired this message in the first place.

> _He is at a beach._
> 
> _The beach is familiar, yet its horizons are unknown. Is this beach on Risan shores? Perhaps. Is it one from Terra Prime?_ _Maybe._
> 
> _He does not know, yet he does._
> 
> _Rather, he knows it is a beach, that this beach is beautiful; this beach dances with the same colors his VISOR showed him on a daily (past?) basis, though his VISOR is not here. The sun is healing and the sand is radiant, the crowd is meager and his body is sweating under this beach’s toasty sun--_
> 
> _And at his side, at this beach, in a chair, is Hugh- who was sitting, but is now rising, standing- offering him a hand to go to the water._
> 
> _“I’ve never been to this beach, you know.”_ _  
> __Geordi knows. “I know. You are now.”_
> 
> _“I like it, actually.”_
> 
> _Geordi can tell how much he likes it. So he says it: “I can tell.”_
> 
> _Geordi feels himself smile; his actions clear as day, but for some reason slow and trudging as if sloughing through an unknown fluid._
> 
> _“Alright alright, fine,” Geordi hears himself laugh, and he is led by the hand through slow, shifting steps in the soft sand, the sun-sparkled waves splashing his ankles as he finds he is in the water up to his ankles, his calves, thighs, then shorts--_
> 
> _He knows this is real, that he is here. This is real because Hugh is here._
> 
> _Just like when he rose with the sun and kissed him in the alcove._
> 
> _How did he remember that?_
> 
> _The water is warm- sweet and crisp like saltwater, Geordi falling with Hugh after they are hit by a wave._
> 
> _After the sting and harsh wave of a splash against his chest, he falls down into the water. But he realizes he continues to float downwards- sinking below the surface, and over a sea floor of infinite, blue-green coral._
> 
> _The light dances on the bottom. The light looks like lights; small._
> 
> _Circular.  
>  Green.  
> Red. _
> 
> _Borg._
> 
> _The light dances on Hugh._
> 
> _“Come with me,” Hugh says._
> 
> _The words flow out of Geordi’s lips, even though they are underwater. “Aren’t we already here?” he says back._
> 
> _Hugh pulls him into an embrace._
> 
> _“Closer.”_
> 
> _They’re sinking downwards._
> 
> _A sudden rush fills Geordi’s chest as they sink further down, the bottom rises ever upward, the light refracted through the water at the bottom coming closer, closer, once endless shapes congealing into hundreds, thousands, millions of lights, solidifying into one, the light is blinding and he feels himself dissolving into the light, into Hugh and into the water, and-_
> 
> _He was falling--_
> 
> There was clarity.  
> And that clarity had two voices speaking as one.
> 
> **`[This is a dream]` **
> 
> _And Geordi La Forge, opening his eyes with a rush in his chest and an ache in his heart, realized he had been dreaming and was curled up next to Hugh who, indeed, slept like the dead._
> 
> _So, safe and comfortable in the nest made of sheets and pillows, Geordi caught his breath and took in the sight of the sleeping xB who felt far closer than he should be._
> 
> _Lying on his back, Hugh’s bedhead had mostly smooshed the back of his hair upwards and off to the side, his bangs falling delicately around his sharp jawline and highlighting the rivets of his “spider web.” The term for that type of common facial augment amused Geordi to no end- the engineer in him was tickled that xBs could link their own implants in such a manner as “the infamous cheek-bordering jawline augment,” despite how they may vary in shape, size, and scarification. He could spend all day being proud of the man Hugh had become, reveling at the sight of his “self-made temple.” Geordi knew how hard he must have worked to make a face, a self that he was comfortable in and himself in; so how amazing was it, then, to know Hugh from his beginnings, and instead daily celebrate the Director, the xB, the individual he was today? To quietly celebrate and muse to himself about dreams shared under the same sheets, to watch the glow of Taijal’s sun be given a horizon by the moon Solstice sat on?_
> 
> _Geordi’s hand slowly, carefully, pulled out from underneath the sheets, the back of Geordi’s knuckle rising to brush against the riveted line that ran out from Hugh’s spider web and into his flesh._
> 
> _Cybernetics? Strong profiles? Straight noses? Soft, dark hair styled to a tee?_
> 
> _Geordi knew he had a type, but he’d be damned if anyone ever tried to make him feel like his type wasn’t a good one._
> 
> _And the moment his skin touched Hugh’s- whereas Geordi woke up startled, surprised, and out of breath- Hugh’s eyes peacefully fluttered open, as if stirred by a familiar sensation, and one Geordi dare not sully with panic or trepidation._
> 
> _So Geordi decided to break the silence. “Good morning.”_
> 
> _Hugh’s neutral expression melted into a sleepy-eyed, widening smile._ _“Yes,” he murmured. “It is a good morning.”_
> 
> _To Geordi’s surprise, instead of continuing to lie as he did, Hugh broke his sentinel-like posture in bed and lazily rolled over to embrace the Commander, the xB’s hand snaking around Geordi’s back in a deep and hungry kiss to the lips._   
>  _Geordi returned the kiss perfectly- as if he knew Hugh would turn onto his side._
> 
> _Confused by how easily and naturally he seemed to form against him, the Commander took the xB into his embrace as any hint of space between them vanished._
> 
> _“I dreamed of something I haven’t done in a while,” he heard Hugh mumble into his chest._
> 
> _“Something you did?” Geordi repeated. “Usually it’s something you ‘haven’t dreamed of in a while;’ that’s new to me…”_
> 
> _“You recall I don’t sleep much in the first place.”_
> 
> _Geordi managed a half-awake chuckle. “Yeah, guess you’re right… fine- I’ll bite,” Geordi teased, “What was it?”_
> 
> _He felt Hugh’s cheek’s dimple against his chest._
> 
> _“Swimming.”_

A familiar ache began to settle in Geordi's chest as his cheeks dimpled and the tops of his ears flushed.   
And though he tried to question this observed phenomena, the Commander couldn't help but relish in that memory and wish he were back in that bed. 

So he looked back to the message he struggled over, and resumed typing its last lines.

> `I look forward to a return message at your earliest convenience, and I thank you for obliging my inquiry- as both a fellow Starfleet officer, and as someone who values the Liberated Borg in preciously treasured regards.`
> 
> `Best,   
>  CMR GEORDI LA FORGE `
> 
> `[END MESSAGE]  
>  - SUBSPACE CHANNEL FORWARDING SUCCESSFUL -`

Before Geordi could linger longer on this morning now that his message was complete, his combadge chirped to life. 

_"Subcommander Vorik to Commander La Forge,"_ the Vulcan called.

"Go ahead, Vorik."

_"Engineering Junction Five of Ten informs me that she is ready to begin the field test of Atlas' storage hub and has requested our presence alongside Directors Hugh and Crosis. Please meet us at the quarantined tachyon/ion anomaly zone."  
_

Geordi grinned, flipping his screen into standby. "Thank you, Vorik," he said with a grunt as he rose from his chair, "tell them I'll be onboard in five minutes."

_"Understood, sir."_

And as Geordi stood to gather his data PADDs and other necessary diagnostic equipment, he spared a glance for the sphere suspended in space outside his window.

**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

True to his word, the Commander arrived to the puzzling, quarantined corridor with a gaggle of staff there to meet him. Crosis was speaking with Atlas, Hugh was analyzing the briefcase-sized unit that said AI would be transferred into, Five was reviewing last-minute notes over a UI window with Vorik... and the EMH was there as well, holding a spinning tricorder scanner up and around Five's head.

"Good afternoon, everyone!" Geordi chimed, the company replying with their own variations of greetings. "I hear we're ready to start?" 

"Indeed, Commander," Vorik hummed, the Vulcan turning his attention to his superior. "Junction Five's construction of this device is as impressive as it is a feat of programming." 

The edge of Geordi's sight caught a stifled, bashful smirk from Five. "I have no one to additionally thank but Atlas for his collaboration and willingness to cooperate. ...But I am quite pleased with the results." 

"As a fellow holographic program, I _too_ am impressed at your soon-to-be engineering feats," the EMH crooned, though he frowned as his eyes remained peeled to his tricorder's screen, "but less so at your 'sleep schedule.' _You_ have not regenerated in 36 hours, Junction."

She huffed with a roll of her eyes. "I am able to function and was verifying my processing wafer installations on the device, Doctor; I do not require you reminding me of my prescribed time for regeneration..." 

"As I recall, we didn't have you on a deadline after Id's incident due to the repairs," Hugh noted, beginning to meander over to the group at the console. 

Five sighed. "No," she admitted, "but it was a... welcome distraction after the event, I suppose. I wanted to see this completed, and upon following a line of... 'inspiration,'" she mused, Atlas looking up from his and Crosis' conversation, "I continued working in tandem with it, perhaps to my typical regeneration cycles' detriment." 

"Well, be proud of what we're about to do," Geordi agreed, "but get some 'sleep' afterwards, alright? You deserve a rest after hitting a milestone like this." 

"I _remind_ the Commander yet again that xBs do not _require_ sleep in the typical way humanoid sapients do," Hugh noted with a smirk, Geordi rolling his eyes and rolling his tongue against his cheek, "but I must agree with my station co-manager. Celebrate in respite, Junction."

Five firmed her lips with a meek grin and gave a nod. "Thank you, Sirs. Understood."

"Which, speaking of 'inspiration,'" Geordi hummed, turning back around to Crosis and Atlas, "you're ready to start, Atlas?" 

"I have prepared and compressed all learned algorithms and additions to my program since my Enlightenment," Atlas spoke. "It is, admittedly... difficult, leaving the root information behind, even if for a momentary test, but I believe I am ready." 

"'Root Information?'" 

"The core Borg intelligence, Commander," Crosis picked up for Atlas.

"Understand, Commander. Previously, it is all I was in function to the Collective. Now, I am... much more than that. Much more _capable_ that simply being a repository for data collection or structural maintenance for this premises, despite my attachment to the libraries that dwell within. And," the hologram sighed, "my shared dialogue with the Director Second and EMH have proved... comforting, as has Five's careful construction and supervision." 

"Not many call me 'comforting,' my photonic friend," EMH piqued from the console, "but I appreciate your courtesy." 

Crosis chuckled at the Doctor as he set his hand on Atlas' shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "As do I," the giant spoke. "Though we all share genesis, you and I are delightfully different, Atlas- in our own unique ways." 

At Crosis' touch, Atlas' green, cubical eyes went wide and the hologram looked to the side. "Y-yes," he managed, "ah-- correct." 

Geordi and Hugh smirked, amused at the Director Second's apparent obliviousness.

"Alright," Five called from the console, "we're ready to transfer; is your program prepared, Atlas?"

He cleared his throat, all Crosis, Hugh, and Geordi stepping back to allow him some space. "Yes, Junction."

And as he turned back to face the photonic xB, Geordi gave him a wink and a grin, standing at Hugh's side as the group watched with intrigue. "See you in a bit." 

The hologram nodded.

And after that nod, his matrix stabilization field fizzled out once, twice, three times in green-and-white light, the Junction activating protocols and containment fields on her screen... and Five's eyes darted between the console and the device on the ground as it came to life, the "makeshift cube" beginning to crackle with warming LEDs and circuitry pathways. 

Five scooped up a PADD and darted to her invention, back and forth between it and the sphere's wall, scanning them along every corner, crevice...

And finally, Geordi let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as Five's eyes widened in excitement and a smile spread across her face: "That is... yes," Five murmured, "there it is, that's what I've been searching for! This base access coding--" she tapped the PADD's screen three times evenly, rapidly, "it's what I've been attempting to--"

She stopped, if not for a moment, quite mesmerized by her own... hand? The finger that she'd prodded the PADD with? Why was she turning her hand over and under, she--

It came to Geordi, suddenly, in an innate sense of clarity. 

> **`[Developing and realizing a new habit is a momentous occasion]` **

Geordi snapped himself out of this lapse with a shake of his head and returned his attention to Five, the xB calming herself and collecting the analysis with her tricorder-like device's scanner. "Is this the protocol requirement you've been looking for?" La Forge asked.

"Yes, Commander," she said in an excited breath, "For _so long_ I have been attempting to figure out how to interface with this branch of the hull's physical makeup, since it rejected and therefore began defensive protocol against V'evik. It _was_ using Atlas as a shield, an instinctual _blocker_ we couldn't get rid of, since the hardware and AI are becoming further separate identities within the physical matrix, and..."

As Five read the PADD's scrolling information, she nodded along. "Hm. I see. That is... ah. ...Alright."

Geordi caught Hugh tilting his head. "Are these preliminary analyses satisfactory for you?" 

"Yes... _and_ no," she sighed. "I will parse the full programming details in my daily report, but it appears that, in order to interface with and manipulate this section of the hull," Five continued, "throwing" the information onto a nearby UI display from her PADD, "we will require a severed drone that has this vessel's exact regeneration signature prior to their entry into the wormhole. And before you ask, no, it is _not_ something we can replicate, nor try and reroute it to a dormant drone."

Geordi concentrated, trying to parse the xB technical lingo as to what this may mean. "So what you're saying," the Commander deduced, "is that we need someone who's been _disconnected_ from Atlas... and would be willing to help us in reconnecting."

Vorik followed the insinuation. "And as I recall, xBs are not typically brought back _onto_ the crafts or locations they were severed from, due to possible mental duress of previous experiences." 

Five settled her jaw. "Correct." 

So the group thought.   
And Geordi watched as Hugh and Crosis were looking at each other.

"Hugh."   
"I know."   
"Do you think she'll--"   
"She'll _have_ to; she asked for something to do while she was here, this may as well be _it--"_

A heavy, dread-stained realization filled Geordi's head as to who, exactly, they were talking about.

"Id?!" the Commander asked, Hugh almost looking surprised Geordi recognized the inference that quickly. "Are you suggesting that we-- bring her back into here!? Is that... wise? Can you do that, considering the protocol for xBs we just discussed? I mean-- you're- both the experienced ones here, bu--" 

"She is our _only_ immediately-viable candidate," Hugh pointed out as he ran his hand down his face, "and I... can't interface with him again. It--" he sighed, "it is... shameful, _embarrassing_ to admit, but I cannot. I, hope you understand, Commander I--" 

> _He couldn't._

Geordi grinned with a creased, concerned brow as he watched Crosis set a hand on Hugh's shoulder, giving it an affirming squeeze while the Director ceased his protests.

"Of course I do."

"Given your condition immediately post-interface with Atlas nearly three months ago," Vorik plainly agreed, "I do not harbor any ill will for your desire to _not_ interface again, Director Hugh. As a fellow telepath, and while I do not _personally_ have experience connecting with Borg ship technology, I theorize it would be most 'unfair' to ask such a request of you..." 

Geordi caught a pause from Vorik.

"...especially recalling my _own_ mindmeld with Junction V'evik."

"You-- theorize correctly, Subcommander," Hugh managed, "and I thank you both for your understanding regarding the matter." 

"Make _three_ who understand you directly, then," the Doctor interjected with a pout of his jaw. "Trust me when I say it's not a pleasurable experience for _either_ party, much less an _unwitting_ and _u_ _nwilling_ host."

"We must ask Atlas for permission before _anything,"_ Crosis reminded them. "As _we_ were once allowed into this sphere, so she _too_ must be granted that entry, considering who and _what_ she was to this ship's complement before their severance." 

"That's the least of it, it feels like," Geordi sighed, wringing a hand at the back of his neck. "Five?" 

"She could perform the basic tasks we would require her interface for," the Junction offered, still buried in her PADD's notes. "Atlas, to my recollection, only based on Protocol 56327.12; her access, therefore, isn't _eliminated..."_

"But not deep enough to where she could get in there and pull any old 'administrative' strings," Geordi finished. 

"Correct again, Commander." 

The group allowed silence to infer a great sigh of frustration.

"Signal Atlas that his program may leave the device," Crosis remarked. "I will lead the conversation, Director." 

"You're certain?"

"He and I are finding, Director," Crosis remarked quietly, "that _my_ former submission to Lore and _his_ role as an AI have... odd, if relatable, parallels that weigh heavily on us. ...And I will ensure him, just as I had to for myself- that he will not be used like that again."

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
CYBERNETICS RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT LAB #2  
**

In the hours it took for Crosis and Hugh to inform Atlas of their plan (as well as ask his permission and endlessly thank his patience), transport back to _Solstice_ and file the proper reports for Starfleet, finish the rest of the day's business, _and_ steel his nerves before heading to Id's cybernetics lab-turned-"studio," Geordi's messenger app on his PADD received a response from a certain Dr. O'Reilly.

Geordi _could_ put off reading it until after their meeting, sure... but he was waiting for Hugh outside the Cybernetics research wing, anyway.

So the Commander, dismissing a reminder notification of Janeway's arrival and his promotion on the 25th, thought to indulge himself with "relevant research," and opened the message to see what this doctor had to say. 

> `[STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE - ENCRYPTED MESSAGE - CONFIRMED 135635.xx.6291]  
>  [LT. CMR. DR. AMADEUS O'REILLY]  
>  SUBJECT: Re: Greetings from the Atlas Project - Personal Query Regarding Doctoral Publications`
> 
> `Commander La Forge:`
> 
> `May I declare, before any further writing, what an honor it is to have you write me concerning the affairs of not only xBs in general, but also that this comes during your management of the first official Starfleet-Reclamation Project co-joint operation. It fills me with a great and humbling pride knowing my work is being circulated amongst the Starfleet personnel to enrich their service aboard the Atlas Project, and I can only hope it assists in expanding their own views towards Liberated Borg partnered with their Starfleet-pledged desire to learn and explore the people around us. I thank you for contacting me, and I too await our in-person meeting for the Midway Gala alongside my husband.`
> 
> `Rest assured, this conversation will remain confidential: on my honor as both a Starfleet officer, and as a man who has an immeasurable admiration for Ohniakan III xBs and their culture.`
> 
> `With regards to your phrasing of "certain phenomena" and "shared work environments between xBs and non-xBs," I _did_ have some material that was rejected for publication after submission to my editors related to this subject. While I am saddened that these documentations will go unread, I assure you they were not anything related to political and/or informational suppression by Starfleet. Upon reflection, my notes were rather detailed observations that I felt as if I had to write down in order to "sort out," if this makes sense, and could be seen as personal teeterings into the philosophical (despite my indulgences already into the subject, considering the rest of my work's body). Thankfully, I kept most of these writings, and they remain available for me to disburse to Starfleet officers upon request with appropriate and relevant credentials. If you and your subjects are willing to describe further detailing of their experience(s) in a reply, I will forward you all relevant material I am able to share.`
> 
> `I must thank you again for reaching out to me, Commander. Your significance in the Cooperation's history and its founders is not lost on me, and both my husband and I wish you and the entire staff there a safe and stable time in the project's upcoming second half. It has been invigorating greeting the newly-arrived xBs fresh off their monthly ferries across the sectors, and it fills me with awestruck excitement knowing I shall soon see Atlas in person.`
> 
> `In blessings and health, `
> 
> `LT. CMR. DR. AMADEUS O'REILLY`
> 
> `[MESSAGE END]`
> 
> ``

Props to the Doctor, Geordi supposed.  
This guy could not only write _good,_ but he could write a _lot_.

As Geordi was beginning to contemplate a response and had the empty reply window open, a set of footsteps began to echo down the hall, Geordi grinning and having a hunch of who it was as he stored the PADD in his pocket.

"Theeere's the man of the hour," Geordi hummed, giving a wide yawn as Hugh rounded the corner with a smirk. "You ready?"

"As ready as I will be, I suppose," Hugh sighed. "Thank you again for coming with me to ask her."

"Thanks for _having_ me," Geordi affirmed as he stood up. "Besides, I haven't even had a chance to _see_ Id since she's holed herself up working. Kinda interested to see what she's cooked up in these past 10 days."

"From what I've heard, it's quite the spectacle on its own. And apparently she's nearly _done_ , too."

"I'll give her points for efficiency."

It was only now Geordi caught an instinctually lazy grin dimpling his cheeks as he realized his eyes were darting over the xB's face, because Hugh's face began to light up in reaction to the prolonged stare from Geordi.

"What are you looking at?" 

"Nothing in particular," the Commander cooed. "I just like lookin' at you sometimes."

A little thumb rub to the remnant biochip port divot on his right hand. His sweet chuckle behind a squirming smile that creased his crow's feet and scars.

Geordi loved seeing Hugh flustered- just as much as he loved getting the quick pecks of kisses as a reward _from_ Hugh for that flattery. 

"Making me blush before our meeting with Id, you're so cruel..." 

"Hey now, I feel that I've got it too; she can't _just_ pick onyou when I'm _also_ guilty of it."

"At least we _both_ wear it well." 

"Ah, see? There we go," Geordi remarked as he punched in the keycode to open the decon chamber, "that's good, blush inspires _confidence_ before intimidating talks like this. I like that."

"Well _I_ like you too, so _there_." 

And Geordi cackled in flustered flattery as long as the decon chamber cycle ran.

Finally emerging and marching in step alongside Hugh, Geordi proceeded into the cybernetics lab that V'evik and Five had helped her set up, sparks flying from a robotic limb soldering something some meters above them on the wall. The light of the sparks illuminated the shape of a head and showered streaks onto a prosthetic body suspended by hydraulics cables, a diagnostic T-91 running its way up and down the left thigh as a pungent, strangely-familiar synthesizer smell wafted through the air...

And before Geordi could examine the prosthetic any further, he heard Id speak for the first time in over a week.

“Gentlemen, good evening!” called the unmoving Id, a manipulation arm near the edge of her head's dock waving behind her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a _visit_ from my oh-so gracious hosts? If it is regarding the rumored progress of my body, I _regret_ to inform you that my boasting of its completion has been _woefully_ exaggerated…” 

As she spoke, the sparks ceased and a visor rose from her head, Id’s construction docking port turning to face the approaching Commander and Director. Right below eye level, Id now sported a head of short, graying brown hair with her pale, nanoprobe-stained skin, Id's once stretched skin far less gaunt, instead now highlighting her naturally-high cheekbones and defined features. Her forehead’s impact scar, combined with the shoulder ports and cables that erupted from that head of new hair, made her look like almost any other xB… if that xB were merely a head attached to a neural oxygenation/regeneration dock, with one of that dock’s tool-bearing hands passing her a... vape... smoker... that her lips took a long, steady drag from... 

A pen?   
Where did she even get that--?  
 _Was that why it smelled in here?!_

“Well. _Almost_ complete,” she hinted, letting out a quick drag from the electronic pipe. “This hydraulics fluid needs at least _12 more hours_ to congeal autonomously throughout the synthetic muscle fibers, can you believe- so for _now,”_ she indicated with a bob of her head backwards, “it’s not going _anywhere_ off those cable attachments; but I _can_ get a good strut in for ambulatory testing’s sake. A horrendous downgrade in efficiency compared to my old ‘workshop,’ but I _suppose_ I’ll manage. It’s been giving me time to get… creative? Free-thinking? Intuitive; let’s go with that.” 

Geordi, stunned at the scene he was beholding, watched Hugh lean his head in and smell the smoke, his eyes darting all over Id. 

“Ah… w-well, good,” Hugh cleared his throat with, “it- comforts me to see you in such an inspired state, even in such a short amount of time. Ah… apologies, before anything else, Id; are you--”

“Smoking? Yes, Director, how very observant of you,” she remarked with a snide smirk. “Your EMH recommended it may medically assist in calming my neural synapses that are adjusting to my organic tissues; I have been diagnosed with a type of ‘Panic Disorder,’ would you believe. But also, it’s even lending to my current ‘bout of inspiration’- not to mention I feel quite… ‘nice,’ with it, as an accessory.”

Geordi desperately wished his cybernetic eyes could make recordings. Hell, he could practically see the letter he’d write to Jean-luc now, and package the video recording with it: _Hey Admiral, hope you’ve been well- say, did you know Borg Queens could smoke weed? Anyway, say hi to Laris and Zhaban for me--_

“Well, you’ve certainly been more _productive_ than people I’ve caught smoking during shifts on the _Enterprise_ ,” Geordi offered. “From what I can see and what V’evik’s submitted in their daily supply log, it’s damn near impressive.” 

“Starfleet flattery won’t get you much with me, Commander,” she continued to croon, “though your compliments are noted. Except! Except, perhaps- a demonstration, and one that I’m delighted to give.” 

Hugh tried to hold up a finger. “We actually--”

“Demonstration first!” she interrupted, the sound of a clamp unhooking itself heard from underneath her fleshy shoulders, “allow a former Queen a time to gloat in her self-made court, won’t you? Come now, come, don’t be selfish; besides...”

As she spoke, two hydraulics cables from the ceiling descended and hooked Id by the circular ports in the curves of her neck, pulling the former Queen up and out of her “perch” towards her body. 

“I think you’ll _like_ this.” 

As the cables would deposit a Borg Queen’s head into her bodily prosthetic, so too did Id’s spine slide perfectly into the open cavity, and Geordi took the time to wholly admire Id’s “handiwork.” The body, far less stiff-looking than her former vessel and much more elegant in design, bore jet-black joints, ligaments, and limbs that were beginning to settle into themselves and rise to life, silver-and-gold plates highlighting faux muscle strands and curvatures over the prosthetic’s build. She was far taller than her former body, Geordi noticed as the hydraulics support lowered her body to the lab’s floor; mere centimeters taller than even two-meter-tall _Crosis_ , a fizz of something “unlocking” and exhaling a release gage of air drew Geordi’s attention to her chest and abdominal area. While otherwise flat, this section was lined with unusual perforations, “sections,” and extra paneling, and the Commander immediately began to realize what these parts were for as her body began to “unfurl.”

The Cybernetics Division’s notes of synthesizing more tritanium-infused carbon fiber casing, suddenly, made much more sense. 

As Id’s long, deer-like legs met the metal floor below her, another set of arms extended out from under the former Queen’s upper “pair” once they unhooked from her chest, the xB stretching her hexapod form and giving a long, satisfied sigh with a dreamy little smile. A host of cables from the ceiling were still attached to the back of her body for the aforementioned hydraulics fluid, but Id hardly seemed to pay mind, her top hands running through her short, thin hair as she found her own balance and revelry. Steps, finally, began to tamp against the metal floor in long, elegant strides towards the Director and Commander, the sound of her satisfied, siren-like laugh rivaling the sheer surprise reeling in Geordi’s mind. 

He, like Hugh, definitely had to go fishing for words to even _begin_ describing this one. The Engineer in Geordi was all but amazed, the Starfleet officer in him wanted to shit his pants, the human and ally to xBs wanted to react in some sort of trepidation and apprehension… and the widowed veteran in him was pensive, the Commander remembering the way Data soberly spoke of the Borg Queen when the _Enterprise-E_ returned to 2373.

But Geordi tossed a glance to the Director instead, wondering what on earth the man was feeling in this moment, beholding the xB who once held him by the throat... 

And it looked like Hugh, in all his wide-eyed wonder, had been struck quite silent by the sight of not a Queen, not 127, but… Id, Geordi sensed. Hugh was looking at _her,_ not her _history,_ in this moment; a moment he clung to, perhaps- to avoid the weight of her previous institution-given power, and offer her a chance of redemption.

Even in all his surprise, shock, and silence, Hugh looked “proud” of her. 

Geordi, by this point, had come to know that delighted little spark Hugh could have in his eyes. 

Come to think of it, she _did_ look quite... “happy.” Pleased. Very “different” than what Data had told him.

And the Commander turned his gaze away from his partner to behold the two-meter tall, four-armed Id. 

_God help him._

In his mixture of awe and stupefied impression, Geordi only snapped out of his surprise when he hadn’t noticed that Id already made her way to them and, smirking, she began to raise her arm--

“Uh--”

If Id were a snake, the former Queen would have _definitely_ bit Geordi, with two assimilation tubules in his neck to show for fang marks-

But instead of striking him, Id’s lower right arm merely snatched the pen she was smoking earlier off the tool table, spinning it shockingly well in her prosthetic’s hand.

“Now...” 

And with a playful smirk, she took in a long, anticipatory drag from the pen and let it out in a lazy trail, the nude xB’s lower arms resting on her hips and her upper set crossed in pride as she blew a rather impressive cloud into Geordi and Hugh’s faces.

“Back to my original question. To _what_ do I owe the pleasure,” she hummed, “of a visit from my oh-so-gracious hosts?”

The two squinted from the thick, strong-smelling smoke enveloping them both.

If Geordi could give her one thing, it was that the Commander knew where Hugh, at least _partially,_ got some of his flirtiness from.

So Geordi looked at her with flat bemusement, the sound of her stilt-like legs tapping against the floor. “You’re wanting a compliment first, aren’t you.”

“I may have been hoping for at least _one_ , yes.” 

He watched Hugh give Id a smirk. “Your craftsmanship _is_ remarkable,” the Director offered, “And you certainly seem to be enjoying yourself in the creative process, at the very least.” 

She scoffed. “How could I not? I will say _this_ for _Solstice’s_ outfitting; I’ve been given quite the ‘canvas’ to work on.”

Geordi raised an eyebrow. “The height’s a new one.” 

“When you are merely a _head_ for so long, you start to _detest_ being looked down upon, Commander.”

Hugh scoffed, “You could have requested the stand be made taller; it’s not as if your dock was locked at a fixed level!” 

“No!” she protested with a wave of her hand, “that’s not the same, hardly at all! I’d rather _not_ have people look _up_ to me while I’m hardly comfortable, thank you.” 

Geordi knew both he and Hugh couldn’t really argue with that point. 

So with an eyeroll and a bob of his head, he sighed, glancing at Hugh before drawing his gaze upwards to Id. “Anyway,” Geordi began, “we might need your help on something tomorrow related to Atlas. Hardware-related, specifically.”

“Requiring my help _already,_ then,” she crooned, uncrossing her legs and watching the two closely. “Go on.”

Geordi and Hugh traded looks before “going on,” the Commander handing off the conversational baton to Hugh. “We’ve successfully implemented a device to store Atlas’ core program on while attempting to interface with the ship itself, and we require an xB with an uplink signature to that of the sphere. We were… _hoping_ you would cooperate with us for this,” Hugh explained, “help us follow a possible lead to answer this great mystery that Junction V’evik stumbled upon.” 

Id’s amused curiosity grew into cautious knowingness, a finger beginning to tap on the side of the pipe’s neck.

“You _know_ I have not been back to that vessel since my forced removal from it.”

Geordi swallowed. “We’re well aware.”

“I have not even met its photonic _S_ _teward_ yet.” 

“You… _could_ , you know,” Hugh noted, “if you and Atlas _wanted_ to meet.” 

“Hm.”

She pursed her lips and tilted her head upwards, considering the two's offer.

“Quite trusting you are, Sirs,” the former Queen mused, “that you would willingly bring me back to a place that I threatened the complete and total _destruction_ of by my own hand. It is _also_ quite trusting that seem so assured in… yourselves. This plan. _Me_ , even; that my exposure to such a place would not…” she rolled her lower right hand with a foreboding little smirk, “ _revert my behavior,_ it could be called.”

Hugh frowned. “I hate to disappoint,” he alluded, “but Atlas _did_ terminate your core control point command permissions when I was connected with him, as well as the sphere’s core access functions. You would have the accessibility of a basic drone; no more, no less.” 

This fact piqued Id’s curiosity. “Why don’t _you_ interface with the hull then, Director?” she asked in a somewhat genuine tone. “You seemed to manage yourself quite _nicely_ shutting down that self-destruct sequence, can’t y--”

“No.” 

Hugh was rapidly shaking his head.

“No. I can’t. I have not interfaced with any of Atlas’ hardware since that day, for both our sakes. ...Primarily mine, and while technically I _can,_ I would-- rather _not_ perform it again, provided we exhaust all other options first.” 

“The _last_ time you connected to the Steward’s body, from what I’m told,” Id recounted, “you breathed the spark of life into his very ribs. If his program would be stored _externally_ this time, what inspires such trepidatio--”

“I’d rather not _recall_ that event, Id,” Hugh said quickly, Geordi feeling an ache well in his chest for how firm Hugh’s words had grown. “It was… very unpleasant. All I can ask is that you please leave me be on the matter.”

A wave of anxiety was wafting onto Geordi from somewhere outside of him. Uncertainty clouded his heart, and smallness made him feel as if a dangerous storm were just off shore. 

Id’s lips thinned as she watched Hugh.

“You were not… _used_ to it,” she deduced, her voice quiet and her eyes low. “Not used to spreading your ‘self’ that far beyond your mind, were you? Because the last time you knew a ship in such an intimate matter... you did not _have_ a self, Director.”

Hugh was silent. 

“You have been... ‘ _singular’_ for so long.” 

And Geordi broke through that silence by setting a hand on his shoulder, and looking up to Id when Hugh couldn’t.

“He has, Id.” 

Geordi knew by this point that xBs, with their stares, sometimes spoke more words than they ever could in a verbal manner.

So he held the former Queen’s gaze, Id’s eyes looking in between them both as Geordi held his ground.

“And that singularity isn’t something I or _anyone else_ wanna see shaken any more than it has to be.”

Id watched Geordi carefully, rolled her tongue against her cheek... and by the way her eyes darted all over him, the Commander felt as if he finally understood Hugh’s descriptions of her, apparently, "extra potent stare" perfectly.

“Hmm.”

Geordi waited in bated breath as Id considered. 

She tapped the pen three times with her prosthetic hand.

And Id, giving a huff, shrugged in too-casual acceptance.

“I’ll do it,” she told them, a lower hand reaching to grab a data PADD off the same tray where her pen was.

She’d do it, then.

Wait. What?   
That was it?

The Commander’s eyes boggled. “You will?”

“Why not?” she smarmed, her eyes still fixed on the PADD as her fingertips suddenly broke into tens of wiry, cybernetic pads to type at breakneck speeds.

So that was something _else_ she could do, then, okay--

“My body’s hydraulic fluids will be properly disbursed by then," she continued, "to be free of these diagnostic transfer cables, and I will have the luxury to enjoy my first autonomous steps. Additionally, considering I was forced to _forget_ certain aspects of my former domain by my sisters’ Collective will... I would like to see what has _become_ of Sphere 4381 since your operation’s ‘handiwork.’”

“What has become of _Atlas_ , you mean.”

“I speak of the Steward’s _body_ , Hugh, not of his _mind_.”

“Then make that clear in your dialogue.”

She rolled her eyes as she continued to type. “He has the mental strength in clarity to ‘hold the globe;’ I wonder if he could do so with my _patience_ ,” Id droned in a grumble. “But yes Commander, Director; tomorrow I will assist your ventures. Be on my ‘best behavior.’ Besides…”

As Id finished her typing and "reassembled" her hand, the former Queen considered her words as her expression relaxed into something that could be called ‘melancholic.’ “The views you showed me during our sessions were rather remarkable, Hugh. ...I would like to see it up closer.” 

> _Hugh took her sightseeing for their Reclamation Consultations?_

He imagined that odd scene; Hugh with Id’s head fixed on her apparatus, the two side by side and stargazing out of a _Solstice_ observation deck and watching the spherical sentinel hover between the Cooperation starships...

He felt that mental tug again, Geordi mental shores radiating pride in exchange for flattery from an unknown sea.

It was cute. 

> _Charming._
> 
> **`[Endearing]` **

Geordi took a quick breath in.

And they had some plans to confirm with a hologram.

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 21, 2391]  
** **VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

For Executive Director Hugh, the ambience of Atlas' inner workings, the thuds of Reclamation Project boots and Starfleet shoes walking together, and the long strides of Id's prosthetic, stilt-like legs gracefully trotting over the metallic floor were the only sounds to be heard for the first 15.3 seconds out of Transporter Bay 2. 

The silent, deafening stares of Reclamation Project and Starfleet staffers watching the sphere's former queen walk in Atlas' halls sufficed _enough_ for conversation, anyway.

Clad in nothing but a billowing, dark-green skirt with replicated emerald-gold jewelry adorning its hip, Id followed behind Atlas who led their group, delving down the corridors to the quarantined-off section. The former queen, in her first steps back onboard Atlas, was not some meek and mild-mannered drone returning to a dark, dangerous place- echoed of a life once unwholly lived and confined to a infinite purgatory of existence. Instead, and much to his regret, Hugh recalled _Lore_ and how, in Hugh's days individuality infancy, toured the facility the wayward drones had taken from Starfleet researchers in cold blood. Lore bore sparkle in his eyes and inspiration in his conniving, positronic brain- eager and even _elated_ to use and manipulate Hugh's fellow xBs for his own selfish gain.

But as the Director watched Id further, Hugh observed no hint of malice in her observations of the sphere's interior; no allusions to self-imposed takeover or grandiose dreams of empirical rule. Though she carried her shoulders high, there was a heaviness in her steps and a rigidness to keep her gaze focused forward- perhaps as to not accidentally meet the gaze of an xB who may stick their head out of a hallway to watch the procession go by.

At least their initial meeting with Atlas had gone smooth enough. 

> _All Hugh, Crosis, Geordi, Vorik, V'evik, and Id had transported into the Sphere from_ Solstice, _Atlas with Five and the EMH_ _waiting for them at attention with hands behind their backs._ _As the group shimmered in and Id sighed from the sensation of her new body being beamed somewhere for the first time, Hugh watched as she opened her eyes and immediately meet Atlas' stare, holding it with a rigid firmness and a puffed-up chest. Hugh had to suppress his face shifting from obvious amusement at the Doctor's widening eyes and disbelieving stare at the returned queen, trying very hard to find weight in the xBs' real,_ individual, _meetings._
> 
> _"Id," Hugh tried to start, "thi--"_
> 
> _"I know_ exactly _who this is, Director," she stopped him with, her long legs trotting down off the platform to meet the AI face to face. All Crosis, Geordi, and the Vulcans traded expectant, borderline nervous glances, the Doctor at his cohort's side looking even more anxious and a wide, forced smile_ _._
> 
> _"Steward 'Atlas,'" Id crooned, her eyes darting all over the photonic lifeform. "It seems this concept of 'individuality' has left its mark on both of us... in its own ways."_
> 
> _"You call me 'Steward,'" Atlas noted, his hands still clasped firmly behind his back. "State the purpose of this given... 'nickname.' 'Title,' even- though I hold no official seniority within Reclamation Project staff."_
> 
> _Hugh, admittedly, was curious as to this nickname too, so he watched on with the Commander at his side._
> 
> _So, rolling her tongue against her cheek, Id turned back towards the company, a dream-like grin splayed across her pale face. "Would you call this man an emperor?" she asked them._
> 
> _[Emperor]  
>  [a sovereign ruler of great power and rank]  
> [one who remains seated on an empire and lords over subjugated peoples]_
> 
> _Before Hugh could consider and finish a "No," Id spoke again: "A ruler?"_
> 
> _Crosis spoke up: "No--?"_
> 
> _"An enforcer?"_
> 
> _"Not- really--"_
> 
> _"A 'king,' even; to compare to the former 'queen?'"_
> 
> _Hugh saw what Id was getting at, and gave her a flat look as if asking her to get on with it already._
> 
> _And catching his eye, she turned back to the hologram and smirked. "From what I have heard and what I have been told," Id told Atlas, "no. You are not any of these. Nor are you even a 'governor,' or some other self-imposed dictator over your complement. I have... left this domain," she admitted, "the queen is gone, this hull's royalty has left her 'throne.' And yet you still... tend to this place, after life was given unto it. To_ you _. A 'Steward,' by definition, is one who manages domestic concerns. Keeps an account of affairs run on grounds, yet one who is a sovereign in their own realm. And it seems," she mused, her voice growing a touch softer, "we have shared a common,_ singular _influence."_
> 
> _Hugh stifled a flicker of pride, a smirk practically radiating off Geordi as they watched Id extend a hand to Atlas._
> 
> _"'I should like to see you as_ yourself _," Id mulled, her grin allowing her to watch Atlas as she held out her hand, "Because I_ too _have discovered_ my _'self' to be quite extraordinary."_
> 
> _Atlas raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips in thought at her explanation and palm. "You utilize this title with a positive intent, then."_
> 
> _"You assumed it to be something dreadful? Unsavory?"_
> 
> _"Based upon our_ last _interaction of an interface," Atlas pointed out, "I was inclined to believe otherwise."_
> 
> _"You ah,_ did _try to blow him and everyone else up," the EMH piped up, "so I must agree with my colleague."_
> 
> _Id's smirk grew at the Doctor's words while_ _Atlas' radiant, cubical eyes gave analytical glances to the Directors, Junctions, and Commanders behind Id._
> 
> _Finally, the hologram locked eyes with Hugh, with Geordi... and the Director wished, in his infinite catalogue of 23 years worth of emotions, he knew why his individualized soul could only settle on a relinquishing smile and supportive shrug._
> 
> _Atlas, in turn, re-met Id's line of sight and took her hand for a shake._
> 
> _"In turn," Atlas spoke, "I feel it proper I should refer to you with a befitting title as well, based on what I have heard from Director Second Crosis, Junction Five, and the Doctor."_
> 
> _"Oh?" Id asked. "And what might you be considering?"_
> 
> _Atlas straightened his jaw. "'Abdicate.'"_
> 
> _Hugh was thankful he and Geordi looked to each other with practically the same, wide-eyed expression as Id gave a hearty, chest-rumbling chuckle while the group stepped down from the transporter._
> 
> _"Fitting, Steward."_
> 
> _Atlas allowed himself a grin. "I thought so, too."_
> 
> _Every expression the hologram showed further and further mastery of filled Hugh with a residual pride too vast to have a proper name._

Hugh knew Id was no Lore, this much was certain.   
Because if Id _were_ another Lore, all Hugh, Crosis, Troval, and every other Progenitor xB would have struck her and that ambition down immediately. 

"How quiet it all is," Id mused, a frown paired with her wistful, yet playful tone. "And to think how this place once thrummed with life."

"It still does," Hugh assured her with an eye roll. "Just in a different way. A different dialogue. Also, Id, as I'm certain you're aware; your presence here is... quite unorthodox." 

"Yes," she agreed, "just as we all are, aren't we." 

The former queen allowed silence to escort them further. 

"I have found myself wondering, occasionally, what happened to the host cube," Id mused openly, turning her head upward to watch the ceiling as they walked. "Whether or not it was destroyed in the war, perhaps lost to the depths of far-flung space... or maybe _also_ being rebuilt," she imagined, "by _another_ multitude of hands." 

"To be able to reclaim and rebuild an entire _Borg Cube,_ " Five wondered, "what an impressive feat that would be." 

"Perhaps time will be _generous,_ one day," Hugh offered back, "and manifest this scenario for the Reclamation Project's benefit."

Atlas hummed. "My program would not detest the idea of managing a larger hull again."

Finally, they reached the quarantined corridor, everyone assuming their appropriate stations for this field test. V'evik and EMH assisted Id in confirming that her now-deployed cybernetics had the proper channels to communicate with the interface port, Atlas stood with Five before his recall into the storage device with Crosis, Hugh, and Geordi at the helm of a console...

"If I have to bear _one more hypospray,_ Doctor-" Id grumbled, pointing a lower hand's finger at the hologram.

He frowned. " _Antsy_ today, aren't we." 

"Less 'antsy' and more of 'I'd like my full cognitive capacities about me,' _thank you_." 

"Oh good! Perfect you said that, then--"

Despite her accusatory finger, the Doctor reached up to plant the hypospray in Id's neck, the former queen hissing and shaking her head despite his wide grin.

"Because that's _exactly_ what this is designed to do as a neuroblocker, should you have any immediate shock from reconnecting from external stimuli again. ...You're _welcome_."

With a scoff and roll of her eyes and V'evik's tricorder beeping in finalized scans, all four hands of hers shooed EMH and Five away, Hugh clearing his throat as Five prepped the start sequence. "We're ready?" 

"On Five's mark." 

"Yes, Sirs."

And just as Atlas had fizzled out into the storage device again, Five confirmed a successful run sequence... and all eyes fell, then, to Id, the former queen planting her lower left hand into the port.

"Begin initializing your coupling protocols, Id." 

Hugh's mental processors were functioning over 100% and he held his hands tightly behind his back, wondering what might happen, what she might do, what--

> _[ 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5]  
> _ _[Breathe]_

Id's sclera began to fizzle from white, to black, more and more couplings connecting to her hand as the first hints of green began to glow in her eyes.  
"Yes... yes, _there_ we are," she murmured, "tell us what you're hiding, de--" 

She paused, her face falling flat and her eyes suddenly widening. 

"What--"

And before anyone could react, even for xBs and all their speed, a sequence ensued no one expected: sparks flew from the port Id was connected to, Five's console turned red and flashed a harsh **" <REJECTED>"** in Borg script, and the cybernetic tower of a queen was forcibly thrust back and out of the wall from a small crack of green-tinged lightning. 

EMH was the first to scramble to Id's side as Hugh clamored to her, pulling out a tricorder scanner and holding it to her head as V'evik attended a lightly smoking prosthetic hand. Geordi took company with Five to try and analyze if this were a programming error, hardware, _something--_ because whatever the cause may be, when Id reawakened, she was _not_ going to be happy with any answer. 

Admittedly, whatever answer there may be also had a risk of deepening this mystery even further. 

"There--" Five pointed out, and Hugh saw Geordi stop scrolling on the endless streams of code and windows of information to pull up something. "It... this is an edit," Five stammered, "look- It was planted there to run when any interface bank recognized a signature from Id."

"And from the look of it, this is recent, but it--" Geordi squinted in a pause, "oh. Wow, Hugh, you-- really got in there--" 

"Correct," Crosis followed her up with. "Director, I believe this may have been a direct result from _your_ interface." 

What?   
_He_ did this!? 

"I thought it... I-I can't recall _everything_ from my time linked," Hugh tried to explain away as he looked up from Id's side, "but-- I thought only Protocol 56327.12 was instated! _Core_ access, not _basic!"_

 _"Apparently,"_ Five sighed, "you _and_ Atlas planted system-wide sleeper subroutines, albeit unknowingly in your discordant states. This is... ship-wide," Five acquiesced, "trying to remove and delete this would have the same effect as removing _one_ nanoprobe from an xB made up of regenerative _millions."_

Hugh looked down and swallowed.   
In... shame, regret, fear- even _trepidation_ at remembering at day. 

So he sought to focus his mental attention and resources for calculations elsewhere. "How is she, Doctor." 

"Stable," the hologram remarked. "Her brainwaves are recovering from the mild shock, and neural readings are still holding steady in connection to the body. I, _do_ predict she will be rather 'cranky' once she has awoken, but something tells me you already had an _inkling_ of that." 

"She will still be able to move, Director," V'evik confirmed. "I see no hardware-related damage; the electric discharge we saw was merely an abrupt severance spark."

After a small silence of the group tending to their acute needs, Geordi finally asked the question no one wanted to immediately ask.

“So... if _Id_ can’t interface, and _Hugh_ can't," the Commander started as Hugh rose to rejoin them, "any ideas of who _can_?” 

Hugh rubbed at his mouth in thought as the others chattered. 

> _[“That causes me much-- discomfort. To think they were alone like I was, too.”]_

He thought of her gentle voice. Her timid smile. That short, orange hair framing her Wysanti crest and cusped by the cranial plating that was still shedding itself from her skull.

The apparent three drones that were missing from a supposed 2,966.

But she still had so much to learn about the world. About herself. 

Was it right to even ask her something like this? 

“There is… _one_ other xB that comes immediately to mind,” Hugh admitted, rubbing his thumb against his finger and eyes staring forward in thought. “If willing.”

He could feel Crosis staring daggers at him: “you better not be--” 

“Not again, no; we’ve already made that clear. I promise you.”

“Good,” the Director Second huffed, “then... who do you refer to?”

Hugh set his jaw. 

“Why not ask the xB who’s stayed in the Atlas Project’s company twice,” he spoke quietly, “and yet was the first pulled from this place?”

V’evik raised a brow. “Who might this be?”

“Coincidentally, you would know her already, V’evik,” Hugh said, turning to the Vulcan. “Though _you_ last knew her as ‘Third of Eight.’” 

A quiet hung in the air as they all remembered this first contact inside Atlas. 

“It would prove… most _fortuitous_ for us, then,” V’evik considered, “if she… ah... has she, had a Namesake ye--”

“Hyades.”

“--If Hyades would assist us,” V’evik followed with. “But Director, is she-- _ready_ for such a task?”

“She is still so freshly severed,” Five pointed out. “This is an operation of… many _firsts_ for the Reclamation Project, true, but to ask a physical and neural interface of an xB still coming into her own?” 

“This is the second time she’s chosen to return instead of remaining with the other ferried xBs,” Hugh offered in a counterpoint, “we are not summoning her back all the way from the Ohniakan system. Just as we have with Id, with _every_ xB that returns to Ohniaka III- we must offer them all engagement. An outlet by which to clarify their minds with, and… _only_ if she agrees,” Hugh reminded himself, a hand running down his exasperated face. “We will force no such thing if she is not willing. Besides, she has shared rather _peculiar_ mentionings regarding this vessel’s complement, and… perhaps it would be… fitting? Comforting. _Affirming_ to see her claims confirmed, if they _are_ true.”

“That, I… can confirm,” Crosis admitted. “I am her Consultation Overseer, and she speaks _solely_ of these matters, sometimes. She is a very bright individual, even with such a recent Reprisal, and I vouch for her competency regarding technical handlings.” 

“So maybe this could be some… _closure,_ then,” Geordi concluded. “Maybe even help with her recovery.” 

From behind him, Hugh heard a prolonged groan, the sounds of prosthetics scraping against the floor. Hugh, turning, watched the EMH back up, stand, offer her a hand... but in realizing where she was and what had happened, Id flew up from the floor, grit her teeth at the group, and flung her hands up in a huff, muttering a harsh _"Fools! All of you!"_ and storming off down the hallway they had entered from. 

"Id--!" 

Hugh huffed, bounding in a step to follow her. "Re-deploy Atlas from the device, Five-" he called, "I'll be back--" 

He heard Crosis' voice trail after him: "Call if you need anything!"

And strengthened from his comrade's words, Hugh trotted after her with a frustrated frown: “Id--” 

“I’ll not have another _word_ from you, Director; lest you _humiliate me_ again.” 

The Director-in-question scoffed. “Will you _listen_ to me before jumping to conclusions!?"

“Oh, having all the Reclamation Project’s higher-ups watch a former queen make an absolute _fool_ of herself on technology they’ve edited and wrenched out of the Collective’s hands? Oh yes, of course, that _couldn’t_ have been a coincidence, how silly of me--!” 

“ _What_ have the leading Junctions done to indicate they would find _any_ humor in this?” 

“Was this what you wanted all along, Hugh?” She sneered with grit teeth, whipping around on the catwalk to peer down at him. “Had this been your plan? To remind me of my _place_ ? To-- _embarrass_ _me_ in front of all your Reclamation Personnel? Remind them how you swatted a Queen down like she were some organic _insect?!”_

“What? No! I had no _idea_ this would happen,” Hugh retorted, “ _none_ of us had any idea the protocol was _that deeply_ embedded into the ship’s native programming! Besides, what makes you think we’d waste our time in some…” he shook his head rapidly with scrunched lips, “frivolous, _cruel_ display of subordination for you?! How were we supposed to--” 

“Ensure all proper native functions are swept for compatibility?” Id barked back. “Done a mockup of my subroutines? Something, anything!? I would have thought you were _good_ at this job you so boast of!”

“Perhaps it’s something with your new _augments,_ maybe; we could consider perhaps the ship isn’t registering your--”

“It has my very _essence_ flowing from my spine to my fingertips, Hugh; _I was once this ship!_ Or have you, in your _little high-minded individuality_ , forgotte--”

A vibration from Hugh’s PADD told him the top of another hour had arrived.

[ **Ę̶̦̤̖̫͓͖̖͓̖̿͋̃͛W̶̤̝͍̹̮͈̺̝̗̽̎̈́̿͆̑̎̂͜͝͠S̶̜͎̤͎͘T̷̨̛͎̦͚̯̤̘͐̑̐̆͘O̸̢̭͚̰̭̖͙͌̽̀͌́̎̕̚͝M̷̢̛̟͈̗̩͈͔̃͋͗͋̀̀͘Î̶̢̞̗̥̹͂̎̈́̀̈̅N̸̮̫̩̘͙̺̹͉͗̇͑̅̆M̶̬̥̱̹̖̗͈̮̣̠̮̉̈́̐̃͐̈͜͜E̴̡̛̖̺̹̳͐̈́̆̇͐̄̉͐͂͜͝Ã̴̘̘̭͉̖͕͙̝͇͓̝̯͍͛̉̒̈́̍̾̆͘̚͝͠V̷̨̤͇̖̯̻͙͐͜N̴͑ͅA̷̱̙̍̆̅̇̕̚̕I̴̡͓̟͓͔͐̇͜ͅȒ̴̭̩̝̟̃U̴̢̡̨͖̘̯̲͎̟̣̟͛͑́C̵̨̮̼͍̫͕̝͉͉͙̗̃͆͒̇̏̅͋̃͝H̷̥̬̼͈̪̻͛̓͜Ẹ̶̡̥͈̺̺̙͙̍̌͗V̸͉̮͚̟͕̺̤̈́̓̇̆̽͂̄̈́̇̒̔͆͜V̸̞̝̭̄̓͛͘͜V̴̛͙̰̏̍̒͊V̶̢̽̏̎͗̈́͜V̶͎̰̌̄̉̏̉͂̾̕͝V̵͈̳̫̰̯̉̀͂͂̽́͝Ṿ̴̢̧̤̙͈̟͖͖̳̬̬͊V̸̨̤̳̙̞̘̓̈́̇̅̂͗̀͒̄̎V̷̨̭̳͓̰̂̍̾͐Ṽ̵̧̗̱̩̪̺̼̠̪̠̭̆̄̋̏͊̾̈́̈́̈͜V̵͇̆͊͋͗̔͗̀̑͝V̶̖̠̣̹̜͙̺̞̪̅̔̃͑͛̈̽.̷̧̺͇̫͔̟̬̹̇͑̽͂.̷͙͓̗̄̄̎͆̔͘͠ͅ.̷̧͕̗͍͔̰͕̆̍̈́̽̈̒͝.̸̥̹̖̎̽̒͆̑̈́̚.̸̧̞̻͕̘̼̬̪̯̣̖̮͆͋.̵̢̡̧͚̘͚̰̠̞̟̺̪̆̏̑̂̏̌̅͝͝Y̶̧̤̜̬̰̘̝͔͓̳̺͇͕̔̇͂͐̔̊͐̐̉̓̚̕Ą̸̖̺͇̤͍̺̲̭̗̘̋̓̆͆̓ͅZ̷̧̢̨̛̗͚̭̫̩̉͑̏̕͜ͅA̸̢̨̫̼̦̬̙̓̈̽̄́̀͒̑͒͘͘X̷̢̧̨̹̜͔̤͍̠͙͖͇̄̓͒̄̈͑͜͝S̷̛̹͆̆̈͋̔̎̕̚͠Z̸̧̧̘̞͖͒Ì̶̢͎͈͈͓̝̙̰̪͋͌͝Ṋ̴̤̾̌͐̽̏̃Ḋ̴̢̮̯̗͕̹̺̠̭͑̓͌̋̽̓̎̓̊̈́̍͜Ą̷̝̮̱̮̤̱͍̭̥̄͆̄̍͜I̸̢̨̥̰͚̓͊̍̋̍͑͒͋̓͝͝T̴̜͈̬̔͆̉̍͂Ų̴̢̣͉̲̤͓͖̯́̔N̷̡̹̭͎͙̥̝͚̬̻̬͎̾̂̅̅͌̔̈̃͠Ç̶̨̛̰͔̳̠̙̞͙̗͕̃̈́͑̄͗̍͂̉͘T̷̯̙͚̱̹̜͈̓̅͠I̴̦̖̤̖̘̺̯̩̻̞̙̜̅̈͋̀͂͆̃͆ͅO̴̟̲͉̐̈́͊̚M̷̛̖̹͚̙̺̦͇̩͖͙̫̌͂̅̋̈́͛͘Y̷͖̻̲̭̳͚̗͆N̶̻̑À̶̢͉͉͈̤̠̩͠Ä̸̹̜̬̝̥̗̝̲̞̺͓̯̻́̊̄͑̓͒̚͘͠͠A̴̡̹͓͓͒̍̾̃͝A̷͚̯̼̬̐̆̓̒͌̓̒̚ͅẠ̵̩̖͈̣̞͖̒Ȁ̸̛̦͉̭̪̘̞͉̃͌̓̍̓͂͝A̷̮̦̾͑͌̇͝Ä̷̛͉̦͖̣̮̬̠̗͚̈͠A̷͗̈ͅA̴͕̤͚̎R̵̤̦̖͑Ť̷̡͙̘̅Ẻ̸̮͎̊͑͒̅̉̑̐̚L̸̘̙̗̄̋̇̓Y̷̰̳̭͔͊U̶͙͚̟̥̬̺͔͌͌N̵̢̛͕̽F̷̭̻͎̳̯̪͉̭̒̎̒Ḩ̷̦͊̓̊̀̚̚D̴̻̩̞͚͛̑͘I̷̢̙͒́̋S̸͎̦̉̈͗͗͘Ã̸̜̱͍͚̜̜̪̠̠̝̥̣͚̊̊I̴̡̡͇̰̹̥̠͕̬̩͗͆̓͐V̸͔̎͊̌̄̏̈́͐͒͜C̴̢͚͔̥͉̿͊̆̎͝H̸̡̫̙͖͇̥̎̓͐͘H̶̨̡̨̛̛̛͚̘̗͉̙̹͕̃́̓ͅḦ̸̡̡͔̟̱̬̤̿̍̚Ģ̶̨̢̢̛̯͇̭̈̃͌̓̽̒̆̍͘ͅĔ̸̢̟͎̣̭̠̤͖͖̽̿̔̄̈́͗̽̔͛ͅḚ̴̙̣̏͛̉͂͌̐̏͌̉A̸̱̬̼̝̤͉̬̫̱͚̳̐̆͐̄͐͆͌͜Ą̷̹̠͍̖̠͉̝͋̾͌̏̌̔A̶̢̙̜̭͖̟͍̳̖̱̠̩͈͗͛̋̕̕A̷̤̗͈͓̦͂̆͆͒͛͛̚͠A̶̰̲͊̈́̄͌̒̐Ḥ̷̢̨̛̿͗̓̐͒͒͝͝Ḩ̸̙̥̜̪̝͇̗̟͛͗̃͊̋̐̇H̷̡̟̬͈͓̯̯̜̫̺͈̭͛̌͐̐̽̇̐͝͠** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6L634xAgUIY)

Id stopped, rather suddenly, to listen.

So did Hugh. 

In the heat of their argument, Hugh had forgotten it was already time for Atlas’ hourly system status announcements- the Language of Information’s reverb shuddering the shell of the sphere itself as the photonic made announcements and declared recently-completed work. Id slowly straightened herself and turned to face the echoing rumble, her prosthetic hand reaching to hold the catwalk’s guardrail… and she was struck silent- Hugh at a divide of listening to Atlas’ status reports, calming his own emotions, and watching Id with both curiosity and kinship. 

“I was… _unaware_ ,” Id decided on, “the Steward still spoke like this. That he _could,_ even _,”_ she managed, “speak like this.” 

“He does,” Hugh elaborated, his steps slow and deliberate as he approached her, “quite often. Every hour, on the hour- when there are Reclamation Project personnel on site able to discern his debriefs.”

  
  


**V̶͎̰̌̄̉̏̉͂̾̕͝Ų̴̢̣͉̲̤͓͖̯́̔N̷̡̹̭͎͙̥̝͚̬̻̬͎̾̂̅̅͌̔̈̃͠Ḩ̷̦͊̓̊̀̚̚D̴̻̩̞͚͛̑͘I̷̢̙͒́̋S̸͎̦̉̈͗͗͘V̶͎̰̌̄̉̏̉͂̾̕͝V̵͈̳̫̰̯̉̀͂͂̽́͝Ṿ̴̢̧̤̙͈̟͖͖̳̬̬͊V̸̨̤̳̙̞̘̓̈́̇̅̂͗̀͒̄̎V̷̨̭̳͓̰̂̍̾͐Ṽ̵̧̗̱̩̪̺̼̠̪̠̭̆̄̋̏͊̾̈́̈́̈͜V̵͇̆͊͋͗̔͗̀̑͝V̶̖̠̣̹̜͙̺̞̪̅̔̃͑͛̈̽.̷̧̺͇̫͔̟̬̹̇͑̽͂.̷͙͓̗̄̄̎͆̔͘͠ͅ.̷̧͕̗͍͔̰͕̆̍̈́̽̈̒͝.̸̥̹̖̎̽̒͆̑̈́̚.̸̧̞̻͕̘̼̬̪̯̣̖̮͆͋.̵̢̡̧͚̘͚̰̠̞̟̺̪̆̏̑̂̏̌̅͝͝Y̶̧̤̜̬̰̘̝͔͓̳̺͇͕̔̇͂͐̔̊͐̐̉̓̚̕Ą̸̖̺͇̤͍̺̲̭̗̘̋̓̆͆̓ͅZ̷̧̢̨̛̗͚̭̫̩̉͑̏̕͜ͅA̸̢̨̫̼̦̬̙̓̈̽̄́̀͒̑͒͘͘X̷̢̧̨̹̜͔̤͍̠͙͖͇̄̓͒̄̈͑͜͝S̷̛̹͆̆̈͋̔̎̕̚͠Z̸̧̧̘̞͖͒Ì̶̢͎͈͈͓̝̙̰̪͋͌͝Ṋ̴̤̾̌͐̽̏̃Ḋ̴̢̮̯̗͕̹̺̠̭͑̓͌̋̽̓̎̓̊̈́̍͜Ą̷̝̮̱̮̤̱͍̭̥̄͆̄̍͜I̸̢̨̥̰͚̓͊̍̋̍͑͒͋̓͝͝T̴̜͈̬̔͆̉̍͂Ų̴̢̣͉̲̤͓͖̯́̔N̷̡̹̭͎͙̥̝͚̬̻̬͎̾̂̅̅͌̔̈̃͠Ç̶̨̡̛̰͔̳̠̙̞͙̗͕͉̃̈́͑̄͗̍͂̉͘T̷̯̙͚̱̹̜͈̓̅͠I̴̦̖̤̖̘̺̯̩̻̞̙̜̅̈͋̀͂͆̃͆ͅO̴̟̲͉̐̈́͊̚V̶͎̰̌̄̉̏̉͂̾̕͝V̵͈̳̫̰̯̉̀͂͂̽́͝Ṿ̴̢̧̤̙͈̟͖͖̳̬̬͊V̸̨̤̳̙̞̘̓̈́̇̅̂͗̀͒̄̎I̷̢̙͒́̋S̸͎̦̉̈͗͗͘Ã̸̜̱͍͚̜̜̪̠̠̝̥̣͚̊̊I̴̡̡͇̰̹̥̠͕̬̩͗͆̓͐V̸͔̎͊̌̄̏̈́͐͒͜C̴̢͚͔̥͉̿͊̆̎͝H̸̡̫̙͖͇̥̎̓͐͘H̶̨̡̨̛̛̛͚̘̗͉̙̹͕̃́̓ͅḦ̸̡̡͔̟̱̬̤̿̍̚Ģ̶̨̢̢̛̯͇̭̈̃͌̓̽̒̆̍͘ͅĔ̸̢̟͎̣̭̠̤͖͖̽̿̔̄̈́͗̽̔͛ͅḚ̴̙̣̏͛̉͂͌̐̏͌̉Ã̸̜̱͍͚̜̜̪̠̠̝̥̣͚̊̊I̴̡̡͇̰̹̥̠͕̬̩͗͆̓͐V̸͔̎͊̌̄̏̈́͐͒͜C̴̢͚͔̥͉̿͊̆̎͝H̸̡̫̙͖͇̥̎̓͐͘H̶̨̡̨̛̛̛͚̘̗͉̙̹͕̃́̓ͅḦ̸̡̡͔̟̱̬̤̿̍̚Ģ̶̨̢̢̛̯͇̭̈̃͌̓̽̒̆̍͘ͅĔ̸̽̿̔̄**

  
  


Id was quiet. 

Just as any xB was when they boarded Atlas for the first time, and they heard that language again in its purest, auditory form.

So Hugh decided to listen with her, allowing his mind to steep in the auditory information that only xBs could discern. 

During their pause, Id withdrew her lower limbs; her face seemed to grow more peaceful, and even her primary hands ceased their fidgeting. Despite the tightness of her clavicle’s skin, the voice brought her a sort of stillness, Hugh sensed, and he was merely happy she could find another source of mental respite.

Id finally broke the silence. “I believe, in order to so wholly purge my access… you had more influence than you were aware of, Hugh,” she mused absently. “ _Have_ more influence, rather. Based upon my current hypothesis and from what I remember… it appears you _could_ re-take a mantle of that sort- should the occasion ever call for it.” 

He swallowed. “I have no intention to abuse that influence _or_ ‘mantle,’” Hugh spoke bitterly. “It was a rather... harrowing experience, connecting to Atlas in such a manner.”

“How so?”

“I have already spoken of it to appropriate outlets. And while they may not-- _fully_ understand, I take comfort in their provided empathy.”

“You have not spoken of it to _me_ ,” she pointed out. “And I, perhaps… would understand better than _any_ of them.” 

His jaw wanted to remain shut, yet another hand of empathy was reaching inside of him- as his own hand did so many times before for the sake of others.

It held his heart in place- to face truths he had not spoken to others yet, and truths he was still, perhaps, trying to sort out himself.

So he recalled those memories.

> _[Dig, then]  
> _ _[Dig deeper]_

“I… once described my experience,” Hugh finally said, “in metaphor. I spoke of it as if I were a great kindler of a new fire, giving fresh fuel and tinder to this new mind. Once it, _Atlas,_ was made aware of me, the very _concept_ of an ‘outside presence,’ of _another_ outside the Collective... it began to consume. Analyze me, _learn_ from me; use my very _sanctity_ as fuel to collect data, as he was not… ‘familiar’ with the concept of individuality. Which I… do not blame him _now;_ how could I?” Hugh shook his head in a despondent, quiet laugh. “But it was still… frightening. Unsettling. Disturbing. Because… _in_ that moment, I--” 

He had to regather himself, the weight of implication settling heavily in his chest again.   
Id waited for him to speak.

“I realized, for as much as I was fearful of looking into the Collective’s infinity again, I… realized could have taken it all. Wrenched control over him and all the drones,” Hugh admitted, “or _snuffed him out_ and taken control. It’s, I… that was my first time re-connecting to a Borg vessel since right before Cubesfall. And I do not know if it is due to my… _age_ as an individual, my _significance-_ perhaps it is simply my grit and _determination_ to stay wholly myself, Id, but… you are right, Id,” he finally agreed. “Perhaps I _do_ have more influence than I am aware of. Or that I would like to admit. ...But even knowing I have the _capacity_ for it knowing I was almost _overwhelmed_ by it, is... very harrowing.”

"Knowing that the others would have had to stop you?" she followed. "The Starfleet Commander having to fire on a newly made king?"

Hugh's eyes widened and he turned to her in shock. “Geordi would not have hurt us.” 

A harsh, wide-eyed shiver ran through Hugh, realizing how much he sounded just like his old self with that remark.

So he immediately followed it up. "A-any of us." 

Id raised her head and grinned. “The _Commander_ , you mean?” 

And replacing that shiver, a protective surge flared up in Hugh’s chest as he turned to Id with still widened, now-defiant eyes, his augmented hand gripping the guardrail with more force than needed. “Yes. What _of_ him.” 

“Nothing, nothing,” she insisted, her smile quite dreamy with closed eyes and held-up hands. “I simply notice how he is… a ‘respite’ in this project for you.”

“I--”

“And I _remember_ ,” she continued, “from seeing through your eyes 23 years ago… how precious that respite was to you. Even then.”

Hugh’s shoulders relaxed as his brow fell.

He lost himself too long in searching for words, the silence beckoning them back to listen to Atlas' declarations and dictations.

“What a beautiful language it is, Hugh,” Id sighed, her eyes millions of light years away as she looked out over Atlas’ inner chamber. “And to think… no one outside of those like us will ever know what it says. What it’s _saying_. Only _we_ know, only _we_ can comprehend it… and they never will.” 

Nostalgia skirted at Id’s subtle grin. “Like… seers,” she hummed, “for an incomprehensible, ancient choir.” 

The attached sentiment to the metaphor surprised the Director.  
What an immense idea, Hugh thought.

“Yes, Id,” Hugh said. “I think I understand that comparison.”

Id turned her head to him again, as if considering something and Hugh overall.

“I would be surprised if you did not.”

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 23, 2391]  
** **VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

"Can we _please_ get on with this," Id sighed to Hugh, the Director feeling his eyes roll particularly hard as Hyades and Atlas looked up from their conversation in the corridor. "I can _only_ take so much sentiment." 

"Don't be salty for situational circumstance, Id."

"'Salty?' What on-, why would I be--"

Hugh smirked. "A phrase the Commander taught me; salt implies a certain 'crustiness' of flavor, a 'sour disposition' in relation to an event, or even a pungent form of repulsivity."

Id nodded with a squint. "So, then; are you implying that I am 'salty' at not being able to interface with this hull, _Director?"_

Hugh desperately tried to hold back a smirk by rolling his tongue against his cheek.

"Maybe." 

Geordi snorted. "Yes he is." 

"I'm filing a complaint with Starfleet Command." 

And the Commander gave a little chuckle. "Oh, I'd _love_ to see an Admiral read _that_ in their inbox if just to see the _sender_."

Asking Hyades for her participation went surprisingly smoother than what Hugh and Crosis would have expected, the xB more than elated to be going back to her quasi-birthplace. The group took an extra day to give her an extra Reclamation Procedure in the form of relaxing cellular regeneration, as to both prime her body and ensure she was _actually_ physically strong enough for this feat in case anything went awry. Even at Hugh and Crosis' initial request, Hyades had rubbed at her face and flexed her hand open and closed, brown-and-blue eyes darting every which way to search for words...

> _"Will I meet him?" she had asked. "The photonic xB I have heard about?"_
> 
> _"Yes, actually," Crosis assured her with a grin, "but remember you will also have to meet Id, if you agree to this. Do you still... want to?"_
> 
> _The mention of the former queen's name made her pause in thought, the Wysanti rubbing her thin, delicate hands together._
> 
> _"Very much so, Director Second. I-- feel 'thankful', that I am able to meet the..." she paused, squinting... "the. AI. Intelligence! Person-- individual! Within the ship that I was from. The Qu-- Id, Id, too. Because I have heard... that isnot typically the case for former drones. To be able to meet their... technical makers."_
> 
> _"You thought of that one fast, Hyades."_
> 
> _She gave a hesitant grin. "I have found myself pondering on their natures often, Director Hugh."_

In the present, Hyades took Atlas' hand as he stood over his device, and placed her second hand over his. 

"I look forward to seeing you again." 

His brow furrowed at her physical gesture, Atlas' hand remaining still at first... but he mimicked the action, his broad hands taking hers and nodding to the xB first pulled from his hull.

"As will I, Hyades."

Five grinned as she prepared the UI with a flick of programming windows. "Whenever you're ready, Atlas." 

Hyades' hands relaxed as his phased out of existence, and she took her place at the port that had so violently rejected Id not days before. Hugh's heart was thudding in concern and worry that she might suffer the same fate, happy the EMH was _very_ close by and ready to catch her _should_ anything happen--

"Should I begin?" 

"Go ahead, aaand... now, Hyades," Five told her. "Just as we discussed." 

Hugh swallowed as the xB placed her hand into the interface port, the tendrils of the wall reaching out and finding the augments on her forearms... Though she swallowed and went stiff at their first initial touch, she began to relax, the EMH's eyes fixed to his tricorder as she connected further and further with the ship.

> _[ 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5]  
> _ _[Breathe]_

Her eyes, finally, went black, and dissolved evenly into the green, cubical appearance.

The company’s heads collectively leaned in, as there was no harsh rejection or sparks from a wall refusing her access...

“Hyades?” 

**"There--"**

A great resettling suddenly made itself known throughout the wall Hyades was connected to, strong gusts of wind fuming out from inside the sphere’s infrastructure. As the Wysanti xB's Reclamation Project gown returned to her side from the sudden breeze, her arm was properly released, the sound of her augments decoupling from the interface port complimenting a great skittering and far-off, muffled thuds. The group looked on and watched her carefully, Hyades stepping back from the wall and absently rubbing the metal that littered the underside of her arm... and at the end of the hall to the group's side, the wall itself began to shift and stir, receding inwards, opening, until its many pieces slid open to reveal an entrance. 

An entrance with a ramped, spiraling slope downward to who knew where. 

"A... door?" 

They were originally trying to source a tachyon/ion disturbance, not rearrange Atlas' architecture--

As the company regained their composure, Hugh sorted through the mental noise and questions that flew through his processors. "Is...--" he stammered, then started over, "would-- someone pull up schematics of Atlas' hull, please?" 

"I've been over the scanned _and_ archived floor plans many times, Director," Five murmured, "especially for this sector. This door and path are not in _any_ of them."

"Id?" Geordi spoke finally. "Got any ideas?" 

"I am just as intrigued as the rest of you lot," she admitted, her eyes wide and fixed on the open door. "Believe me when I say I would remember my own 'interior decorating,' if I could _help_ it."

"Should we re-deploy Atlas?"

"Not now," Five pointed out, "I want to make sure I install protocols so that this... uh... does not-- _conflict_ with his program's independence."

While the group was deliberating, Crosis lumbered slowly towards a backing-up Hyades, the xB still rubbing at her forearm's implants as the Director Second set a hand on her shoulder. "You did very well," his smooth voice told her. "Thank you for your help, Hyades." 

"We should, we--" she began... but then stopped to start over, looking up to Crosis and nodding. "Thank you Sir." 

"Of course. Are you alright? Do you need to leave?"

"No, in fact I-- I think we. You. Should go down there. -- _We_ should go down."

Hugh watched her and Crosis carefully. "Do you... _know_ what is on the other end of that hall?" 

"I... think I did at _one_ point," she managed, "I think we _all_ did. ...--'We' and 'all' meaning me, and the others in this group."  
Hyades turned back to the group and let her gaze wander until she met Id dead in the eyes. "You did, too."

The former queen straightened her head and set her jaw. "How kind of you to _remind_ me." 

After some tentative tricorder scans, the group began to meander down the ramped spiral, Five's engineering flashlight lighting the way down and around what felt like a descent into complete darkness. Scans from their tricorders showed the tachyon/ion readings were _increasing;_ wherever they were going, the group was at _least_ on the right track. Oddly enough, the further down they went, the more... damp, it smelled, the air felt _wet_ ; as if a humidity had been trapped down here and not allowed to circulate or dissipate. 

31 seconds into walking downwards, they finally encountered something that was not the sound of Reclamation Project boots, Starfleet shoes, or prosthetic legs hitting a bare metal floor. 

It was a small glowing speck floating absently in the hallway, its color wafting in and out of blue and white.

Another one was right behind it, only seemingly stirred into motion after a long absence of moving air.

Before Hyades could reach her hand out to it, the Commander spoke up. "Doctor," Geordi said, "I'd like confirmation if this is a lifeform, and whether it is sentient or not before we go any further."

"Certainly, Commander," the hologram piped as he held up his hand scanner, "onnne moment..." 

And as he studied its readings, the EMH's lips pursed and his eyebrows motioned all sorts of quirks. "Hmm." 

"Well?"

"Well, it _is_ a lifeform," the hologram hummed, "and _sentient_ , but not a _sapient_ kind."

"And what kind might that be?" 

The EMH blipped off his tricorder and turned to face the Commander and Director.

"Fungal, sirs." 

Fungi?  
Within the Borg? 

> _[This was not efficient]_

Geordi sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Great, then; we've got mold in Atlas' basement... is it-- dangerous for us to breathe? Should we go back?"

"By my scans, no. It is actually a very rare, yet galaxy-wide specimen, Commander," the hologram beamed in pride, " _Prototaxites stellaviatori_."

Hugh turned back to Id and waited for an answer that she, admittedly, most likely did not have. 

Her expression all but confirmed his suspicion, the former queen bending down to have her face illuminated by the floating, glowing spore. 

"Beautiful... if quite _pungent."_

The team continued down the spiraling corridor for another minute, the spores increasing in size and number the more they marched onward. Even a blue-tinted "light at the end of the tunnel" began to radiate from what they hoped to be an ending, Geordi passing the time by explaining this odd metaphor for human death... and finally, they reached the end in the form of a circular, dome-like chamber, and found what had been so sealed off from all scans, floorplans, and even complete Hivemind knowledge. 

It was beautiful.   
It was haunting.   
It was foreboding. 

And it was all here, sleeping right underneath their operation for almost three entire months.

Lit by white, blue, and teal spores, "plant" life swayed from the floor in gentle motions, the spores from the hallway drifting absently over abandoned Borg interfaces and indents in the geometrical, faintly green-lit walls. In the middle of this chamber were three alcoves arranged around a massive pillar, a metallic “support” that acted as an anchor for a tree-like core of fungi that erupted from its center and spread to the ceiling. Its limbs arched the width of the circular roof and seemed to vein their way over the geometric indents and lines, reminding Hugh of freshly-grafted Borg implants to organic skin. The closer they got to these alcoves, however, the more it became clear that there were bodies in these alcoves...

And they had, indeed, found the missing three to make 2,966 drones.

Approaching the massive "tree," Hugh's gut wrenched at the thought of these drones having to live in secrecy for however long they were alive for untl death finally took them. The fungi had overtaken their bodies entirely and practically melded them to the encumbered alcoves, fungal roots erupting from two of the three drones' mouths to merge with the great tree above them. Five, Crosis, and Geordi had to put their fists to their mouths to hold back the revulsion, V'evik and Vorik's mouths squirmed in obviously-restrained disgust... and Id, with Hugh, for as awestruck as they were, were filled with conflicting dread, confusion, and ever-familiar weariness. 

The Species 8472 War may have been kind of hell, but the Borg knew how to concoct their own in trying to conquer a rivaling one.

For as horrifying as it was in the case of the corpses, there was a conflicting sense of beauty to the scene. No lights were necessary as Five put away her flashlight, cybernetic and organic eyes alike adjusting to the bioluminescence. A multitude of glowing spores danced about their heads in all shades and hues, veins of fungal "plants" littered the chamber's floor like a garden, even a few teal lights flitting past V'evik's shoulder from a sudden gust of motion...

"Before anyone asks me," Id spoke evenly, faintly, "no, I... _don't_ know what any of this was. And I almost loathe my sisters for making me forget."

"This is the same fungus of the spores we picked up coming down here, right?" Geordi confirmed, "we're still breathable? Do we need masks?" 

"Confirmed," Vorik spoke, "and no. There is no apparent lethal toxin to be had from respiration."

 _"Direct consumption,_ however- that may be a _different_ story for _you_ all," the EMH noted, squinting at the chemical compound readings on his tricorder. "Nobody get any ideas."

"Let's get to equipment analysis first," Hugh sighed, "then arrange for Troval to bring in some Medical Relays to assist with detaching these bodies. Id, Commander- if you would--"

"Hyades?" Crosis called.

Hugh, turning his gaze towards Overseer and Patient, watched the Wysanti stand at a drone's side and behold their inert, fungi-burdened body. The Director could tell she wanted to do _something;_ perhaps place a hand on their shoulder, maybe say some departing words, even try to bring them back to life... but Hyades was at a loss for words, and the Director held up a finger as if to say he'd be right back.

A sudden and hard gasp from Id, however, made Hugh turn around that much quicker. 

The ungagged drone’s eye snapped open, looked straight at Hyades, an arm encumbered by implants and fungi grabbed Hyades’ throat- and before Hugh could even shout her name in fear and concern, the sickening sound of assimilation tubules plunged their way into her neck.

Hyades fell to the ground and the restrained drone went limp, their body sputtering and powering down into death's finality as whatever infection finally consumed their last bit of instinctual, backup power. There was no time to talk, no time to succumb to panic; Hugh's fear for Hyades warred with Directorial focus as he clamored down to support and hold her up by the head, everyone circling around them as her body trembled and began to grow still...

How could he do this, why did he _allow_ her down here, how despicable was his own _cowardice_ that it might now cost a young xB her young life--!?

"I need a nanoprobe reproduction rate estimate, Doctor," Hugh asked despite his wavering voice, "please--" 

"I will administer a dosage of immuno-boosters," he noted, one hand holding his main tricorder and another reaching for a hypospray, "it'll assist in slowing the--" 

The EMH stopped before he activated the hypospray as he looked back to his tricorder, his expression morphing into befuddled perplexment.

"What on _earth?_ "

"Doctor, we can't wait--!"

" _Director_ ," the EMH stopped him with, his voice a mixture of confusion and fascination. "I am not... Hyades is showing absolutely _no signs_ of a recent spike or reproduction rate of nanoprobes in her system."

"But, she--" 

"We all saw them, the drone hit her with--"

"Yes, there is indication of a foreign _presence_ in her body, but it is not an _assimilation_ , it--" he scoffed, "one moment, let me _reconfigure_ what to scan for." 

With his mind still in overdrive, Hugh pulled his gaze back down to Hyades lying still in his lap. His jaw clamped shut and his forehead beginning to sweat, Hugh's hand managed to readjust supporting her, daring himself to pull back an eyelid to check and see if her soft tissues were devolving back to--

"What?"

Hyades' eyes, instead of the gray sickness of a null assimilation’s venom, were a pale wash of clouded, ethereal white.   
He pulled back the other lid.   
And even her cybernetic eye bore the same white haze.

What was this, what _was_ this?! Was she dying, was a new assimilation technique, was it related to the lifeform that consumed these other three drones, _what!?_ Hugh couldn't stand complete and total ignorance in a situation like this, he hated the feeling of powerlessness, of weakness--!

Hugh let out a shaky breath and collected his thoughts as Geordi knelt beside him and looked to the EMH. "We need _answers_ , Doctor--"

"I have at least _one_ right now," he huffed, "but I doubt it's going to make sense. I'm finding the drone's action was... the equivalent of someone hypospraying _genetic DNA material_ into a subject," the hologram stressed, "and Hyades' inherent nanoprobes are, uh. Actually. Almost- _done,_ incorporating the genome sequencing into her--"

"DNA?" Geordi repeated. 

"What kind?" 

"It's narrowing the sample down now--" 

And suddenly, in Hugh's careful embrace, both of Hyades’ eyes snapped open with an audible gasp- all sclera, iris, and pupil still white. Slowly but surely, however, her eyes began to fade back to their organic brown and cybernetic blue, the Wysanti still too disorientated to stand as her chest heaved for breath. But oh, his heart, the panic of a possible null assimilation and the fear of her soon-to-follow death began to wash away; Hugh could sob in relief at the fact she was still alive despite the strangeness that was unfolding before him--

"Hyades?" Hugh said through a bleary-eyed smile, "can you hear us?"

"Ah... Director," she hummed, "I am- still onboard Atlas?" 

"Yes, you've-- only been unconscious for 45 seconds--" 

"We have a DNA match," the Doctor announced, though he did so in a squint and a tilt of his head towards the tricorder. "But I'm... rather _perplexed_ at the subject."

Id spoke up: "Out with it, then--" 

"It is, a--"  
With a confused frown, the Doctor spoke: "--macroscopic species of... tardigrade?"

> _[Tardigrade]  
>  [1,300 known species of Tardigrada on Terra Prime]  
> [.5 millimeters in common sizing]  
> [estimated at 600 million years of existence in genesis]_

Hugh, realizing he had _much_ more important matters to attend to, allowed the group to ponder this odd match, even noticing Geordi shaking his head at _something_. "D-did... while you were unconscious, did you- see anything, Hyades? Your eyes were an odd color, they-" 

"Yes, Director Crosis," she sighed, her eyes darting up and towards the ceiling above them. "Yes, I did--" 

"What was it?" 

She smiled.

"Threads," Hyades said dreamily. "Threads like roads, Director."

> _[A place, a person, and a road]  
>  [All the same thing]_

At the realization of this last word, Hugh looked up to V'evik. 

Their nose was bleeding.

* * *

**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'_**

It was going to be a very, very long afternoon of writing reports for Commander Geordi La Forge. 

After innumerable scans, images, and samples taken of all fungi, dead drones, and engineering tech, the group finally re-emerged from the mysterious door and filled Atlas in on what they had encountered "downstairs," Five and Geordi spending the time ensuring he could actually _go_ into this section of the hull. After some successful programming workarounds, EMH, Crosis, and Hyades escorted him down into Chamber 5873, as they were calling it factually now, to see it for himself, the hologram apparently "wide-eyed" and "struck silent" at what was sleeping inside him and made ignorant to by the Collective. 

> _"Whaddya think," Geordi had crooned while working on a line of code for Five. "A little odd, huh?"_   
>  _"Odd, yes, but... is it incorrect, Commander," Atlas spoke, "to think of myself as or assume the title of a 'gardener' now?"_

He'd told the hologram "not at all," and even wished Atlas "best of luck at the county fair for getting the 'blue mushroom ribbon.'"

Id, meanwhile, had taken a stalk of one of the fungal roots for further study in her cybernetics lab, the former queen surprisingly quiet upon her re-emerging from the depths. At both Geordi and Hugh's checking in, her eyes were tired and her grin was reserved as she twirled the little piece between her prosthetic fingers, looking the two men over before heading back to the transporter bay. 

> _"It is a bittersweet poison," she admitted, "seeing I helped create such things, and then was made to forget them. Knowing that my mind was a part of that beautiful handiwork, whatever it was we were building... and to so casually toss it aside when deemed unusable? Unworthy?" She scoffed. "Fools. Cowards, even. A waste of resources their pretty little heads wouldn't know what to do with if I handed it to them on a cubical platter myself."_
> 
> _But she stopped her sarcastic ramble, her eyes growing reflective again. "I sense an odd kinship with the Steward's garden. ...And I hope he makes something far, far better than anything my sisters could have ever managed or imagined."_

Once Junction Troval was pulled from their Medical Resource duties aboard _Theta_ and introduced to the fungal amalgamations, the xB began scanning the three corpses and firing off notes to EMH, Atlas, and the handful of Medical Resource staffers they brought, flitting about in their gray-patterned vests and bright teal gloves. 

> _"An anomaly," they had said with a heavy sigh, "and a loss. I only hope their last, if any, individual thoughts... were peaceful ones."_
> 
> _Troval was quiet until a Medical staffer approached her, bringing a steel case that had to be carried with both hands. "All preliminary scans are completed, Junction. We are ready to begin extraction."_
> 
> _"Thank you, Relay..."_
> 
> _And Troval opened the case to reveal what was the largest, most threatening cybernetics surgical buzzsaw Geordi had ever seen in his life._
> 
> _"Let's get started, shall we?"_

Withdrawing from the chamber at Troval's urging, Geordi and Hugh rejoined the rest of the group, Hyades standing and speaking with Crosis, Atlas, and the EMH dutifully scanning the seemingly-fine-as-ever Wysanti. The four turned to the Director and Commander, Geordi relieved to see everyone in a much less panicked state than they all had been no less than an hour ago.

"Director Hugh, Commander La Forge, I-- thank you for your intervention today," Hyades told them, "and I apologize again that I alarmed you. E-even though, they, it... was-- beyond my control. But I report my condition to be... stable. At 'peace,' as you have described to me."

"And she appears to be _remaining_ at peace, Sirs," EMH remarked, holding the spinning tricorder scanner beside her head. "According to my readings, the tardigrade DNA seems to be integrating with her nanoprobes' inherent adaption protocol quite remarkably. I either credit this to a unique Wysanti trait that I should _refresh_ myself from my entries into _Voyager's_ medical archive," he crooned, withdrawing the scanner back to his side with a swipe, "or simply _add_ it into the cauldron of _burbling intrigue_ regarding my photonic colleagues' hull. Simply put... it is just _there._ In no detriment or practical, immediate use to her at all."

"We're just happy to see you safe and sound, Hyades," Geordi told her. "Both Starfleet and the Reclamation Project owe you a great deal of thanks for your willingness to cooperate." 

"'Cooperate,'" she remarked, putting the words together. "Like the Cooperation itself. Us. What, you-- we, try to do." 

Hugh nodded. "Exactly."

Hyades smiled at her recognition of the terminologies, biting her lower lip as she followed a train of thought.

"Director Crosis," she asked with that same grin, "I submit a request to hold my Consultation Appointment today at 1400 hours here. --Instead of the typical facilities on the Command Juggernaut. Maybe even... in Chamber 5873, if Consultation Appointments _permit_ this vein of unorthodox protocol."

Hugh looked up to his el-Aurian Second, Geordi just as interested to see what he'd have to say. "Welllll," Crosis mused from under his mustache, turning his head to Atlas with a widening grin and pursed lower lip, "...as long as _someone_ says it's alright... I wouldn't see the harm in it."

Atlas considered the xB with his eerie, thoughtful eyes, glancing at the regenerative patch on her neck.

"If you... still find yourself _comfortable_ in that place despite what's transpired," Atlas told her, "I would not refuse your company, Hyades. I find my program... drawn- or, rather, _fixating_ on that place as well, so... yes," he settled on. "Yes, actually. You are welcome to stay." 

The echo of Troval's surgical saw could be heard revving again from down the spiraling rampway.

Crosis grimaced. " _After_ Junction Troval is, ah... 'done.'" 

Hyades swallowed. "Y-yes please." 

_"DOCTORRR!"_ hollered Troval over the sounds of distant, gnashing steel, _"CARE TO JOIN US!?"_

The EMH smirked. "Well then... I'm off to lend my further expertise."

A short time later, after Geordi's obligations were fulfilled and before he had to return to _Solstice,_ the Commander found time for a break on a nearby catwalk, settling his thoughts from the hectic day's events by resuming work on a message meant for Dr. O'Reilly. 

> `[STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE - ENCRYPTED MESSAGE - CONFIRMED 135635.xx.6291]`   
>  `[CMR. (CAPTAINCY PENDING} GEORDI LA FORGE]`   
>  `SUBJECT: Re: Re: Greetings from the Atlas Project - Personal Query Regarding Doctoral Publications`
> 
> `Dr. O'Reilly:`
> 
> `Thank you for your quick response back on the 20th, and I owe you an additional thanks for your patience regarding my own response's timeliness; it has been a busy few days here, and I wanted to aptly describe these phenomena, as well as confirm these observations following your specific requests. Your compliments are kind as they are genuinely encouraging, and I wish you and your husband well on the Cooperation's homeworld.`
> 
> `To put lightly and succinctly enough, Dr. O'Reilly, there have been | `

Geordi tapped the PADD for a moment, figuring out the best way to phrase his personal queries as to not immediately give himself away.

> ``
> 
> `staffers here from the Starfleet side of this operation who have begun experiencing heightened sensory reactions after their steeped company in xBs. Whereas these relations with Reclamation Project personnel have ranged the gamut of coworkers, colleagues, friendships, and even further interpersonal fraternization (despite Starfleet's personal relations protocols), their sensations have been expressed as "adaption." "Awareness" into xBs' coherency and fluidity, on both a mental and physical level. There have been observations of emulated habits, trains of thought, and descriptions of "bodies falling into closer and closer orbits" feel apt when trying to vocalize these concerns. I was wondering if you, as someone who studied and were immersed among xBs on a societal-wide scale for an Ohniakan year, had some sort of awareness of these reportings, or had heard accounts and/or testimonies from those who had. I understand that this may be a per|` ``

"Geordi?" 

At the sound of Hugh's voice, the Commander grinned despite his heart skipping a beat, closing the messenger app on his PADD and stowing the device in his pocket.  
He could always finish this later.

So, turning his head towards where he heard the approaching Director's footsteps, Geordi found himself watching Hugh as that grin of his widened even further. "All done?" 

"Mm. Hyades is staying here for the rest of the day cycle, and I have reports to file back on the Juggernaut. But for now," Hugh sighed, "after today's events- even a mind such as my _own_ needs a respite. ...May I join you?" 

Geordi recalled Hugh's paling face at the corpses twisted, fungal faces.

So he nodded. "Please do." 

An amiable silence hung between them as the men relished in the atmospheric, green-tinged bustle of Atlas' hull.

After a small while, Hugh's hand went to rest over Geordi's that clung to the guardrail for support.

"Geordi," Hugh said softly, his mismatched eyes tinged with a weight of fondness and exhaustion. "I feel as if... we have been here before. Tell me: does this, us, where we are now... does it seem familiar to you?" 

So Geordi thought on what Hugh could be comparing this to.  
Pondered on it.

> **`[Remembered]` **   
>    
> 
> 
> _"I trust you too, Geordi. More than you may ever know... or that I might be able to ever realize."_

Geordi's chest hurt and his brow creased upwards at the sudden clarity.

“Yeah,” the Commander confirmed, “at least _this_ time we’re not lugging a loaded-up maglev cart down a teeny tiny catwalk.” 

Hugh chuckled. “I don’t think that hologenerator is going _anywhere_ for the foreseeable future.” 

“Neither do I. Then again,” Geordi offered, “I didn’t expect three months ago to find a giant _fungi garden_ in the core of a Borg sphere, so who am I to talk.”

“May I affirm to you, Commander, that I do not believe that was in _anybody’s_ predictions.” 

“Sometimes the best things… _people_ in life,” the Commander hinted, “rarely are, Hugh.”

The Director allowed a pause to hang, Geordi happy to bask in the silence as their joined hands on the catwalk railing absently toyed with each other.

“I simply wonder, then,” Hugh finally spoke, “if we find ourselves here again... where you and I will be in _another_ three months.” 

Geordi’s smile dimpled at the mention of 'we.' “Well, first thing's first: I'll be a _Captain_ by then," he teased (which got another little laugh out of Hugh). "And secondly... _I_ might not know, _y_ _ou_ might not know… but we could make it a date to come back here and find out. Or, maybe we’ll just end up here again- whether we mean to or not.”

“A ‘date’ implies intent,” the xB noted, “purpose, a _reasoning_ for being at a specific location, at a specific time. We could, at the _very_ least, go forth with that purpose… and let our self-made fates help us adapt to the future- wherever life, in _all_ its variables, takes us.”

“Sounds like that comes from experience.” 

The Director’s scar creased under the gentleness of a reflective grin. “23 years of it, Geordi.”

As Geordi’s thumb began to absently rub circles into Hugh’s old biochip wrist port, the xB leaned his head against the Commander’s shoulder.

And Geordi, this time, was more than happy to echo that motion, as compared to three months ago- finding himself lost in both the ambient thrum of life inside the sphere, and the faint, familiar scent of the Director’s hair.


	18. ordainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're still leading up to the main event, but who's to say a certain someone can't get a well-earned congratulations along the way? 
> 
> A promotion is happening in the Atlas Project before the start of the Midway Gala.  
> Old friends reunite, an Admiral has a talk with a Queen, a doctor gets personal, a soon-to-be Captain asks to share something with a Director, and we get to imagine what a hug from the Director Second feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jfc will a ~20,000 word chapter make the 3 week wait worth it??? god i hope so || apologies for the IMMEDIATE onslaught of technobabble in the first section but that's my "okay here's a recap of what they found so we can jump right tf into part 3 once the gala's done || "haha this'll be a short little build-up chapter right before the gala, no worries" i love lying to myself by accident || i poured a lot of my heart, love for what hugh and xB's mean to me, and Huge Gender Feelings into this chapter, so i hope you enjoy. genuinely thank you for sticking with me through this ride || aka: did you get that every single xB is gay and trans? guess what htere's also gay and trans people OUTSIDE of that and that's so cool.......... || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 24, 2391]  
SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
** **STATION COMMANDER READY ROOM**

> `[STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE - ENCRYPTED MESSAGE - CONFIRMED 457826.xx.3239]  
>  [LT. CMR. DR. AMADEUS O'REILLY]  
>  SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Greetings from the Atlas Project - Personal Query Regarding Doctoral Publications`
> 
> `Captain La Forge:`
> 
> `Forgive me if I have addressed you incorrectly by the time you are able to read this message (as I am aware your promotion falls before the Midway Gala). Feel no need to apologize for any delays in replies, due to what must be an extremely busy worksite. I wanted to do the honors of correctly addressing you before my arrival, and not risk outdated titling of an outstanding officer such as yourself. `
> 
> `But beyond pleasantries (and my giddiness at meeting you in person in three days at time of writing), I have read and pondered on the queries you've described to me regarding your staff, and I feel as if I understand your insinuations quite well. Very well, in fact; almost to the point of "very personally and intimately," and I appreciate you writing to me in genuine intrigue and willingness to understand rather than immediately issuing demerits towards Starfleet personnel, or stifling their willingness to connect with their Reclamation Project cohorts. In all my 22 years serving in Starfleet as a xenoanthropologist, I feel the year spent on Ohniaka III during 2390 left a resounding impact on me in more ways than I could describe or have expected as a doctor in this field. I have lived within traditionalist Vulcan villages in their northern deserts and endured their mindmelds, traveled through Andorian tundra for the sake of understanding Aenar ruins before their 2290s extinction, and drank my fill of Bloodwine-fueled festivities to last me several trips to Sto'Vo'Kor and back. It is rare then, Captain, I am left at such a loss for words when I am hosted by a people- as much as you may have noticed your _own_ hosts find themselves looking for language by which to describe the world around them.`
> 
> `As I recall you requested of me at the beginning of this message chain, you asked to keep all discussions henceforth "confidential and under extremely need-to-know basis." `
> 
> `` `By the time you are finished reviewing the enclosed content, I can only ask that you understand why I request the same sentiment of _you_ , as some of the following are very personal excerpts and recordings made during my initial year of social observance.`
> 
> `The written log is, for the most part, the same as my other published material available in the Starfleet database, albeit with a more personal touch and veering into that "philosophical tendency" I spoke of in my previous message. The personal log was not shared with Starfleet, and I recommend you read it after reading my attached article; likewise, I ask that you do not share the personal log directly with your staff, as it contains... well, rather personal sentiments.`
> 
> `I kept these pieces in the hope that, one day, I might meet and find company in those who understand my passion and admiration for these people. ` `The Liberated Borg Cooperation of the Alpha Quadrant are as vast as the Collective they are pulled from, and it fills me with an otherworldly optimism knowing Starfleet officers have begun expanding their own points of view.`
> 
> `I hope you, the Executive Director, and all your staff aboard the Atlas Project are well, Captain. My husband and I look forward to meeting you in person to discuss our observations, connections, and uncovered secrets further.`
> 
> `Sincerest Regards,  
>  LT. CMR. DR. AMADEUS O'REILLY`
> 
> `**ATTACHMENTS** **:**  
>  CH.1,SCT.IV,PT2.UNPUBLISHED | PERSONAL LOG, STARDATE 68125.49`
> 
> `[MESSAGE END]`

A tiny, black-and-pink-beaned paw was batting at the projected inside of a rotating, spherical hologram.

Commander Geordi La Forge's afternoon-weary eyes darted around his Ready Room table to see if this catsitting would be _too_ distracting for a Junction Division Meeting, Mimi's excited tail juxtaposed to the rest of the company's bemused faces as she lied flopped over on its surface.

Troval smirked. "She's helping."

V'evik frowned. "A peculiar definition of 'helping.'"

"Doessss anyone have a visually-safe laser pointer on their person?" EMH piped up. "From what I recall, cats _love_ to be entertained by those frivolous little things, and we _could_ move her off the projection point with one..."

The table pursed their collective lips in thought before Five, tilting her head, reached into one of her engineer's tool holsters and began digging around for something.

"Give her any _more_ attention and we're gonna be here all afternoon, helping or not," Geordi sighed as Five found a device and started to fiddle with it. "Trust me: it's how she almost got my report submitted an hour later than it should've been."

" _Surely_ Starfleet Command wouldn't balk at the idea of a therapy animal providing emotional support to project staffers," Hugh pointed out, Geordi restraining a grin to the Director standing at his side.

Vorik refolded his hands on the table. "It would be _ideal_ if Doctor Bartholomew could find less intrusive methods of allowing--" 

Five activated the item she was holding, pointed its now-lit end to the prone cat's side... and Mimi's eyes went wide at the sight of the newfound "prey" in the form of a purple dot. Five jerked her now-repurposed diagnostic wand left, right- once, twice- each time, Mimi's paw came smacking down on top of the dot, and a handful of staff barely held back smiles and chuckles as the cat was guided, very playfully, down and off the table so they could continue. 

> **`[ d arl i n g ]` **

Geordi blinked to refocus.

"The Chief Engineer of the _USS Lalo_ owned a cat," Five mused as she lured Mimi towards one of her toys on the floor. "I am beginning to recall how... 'charming' they can be."

"We're actually considering testing therapy cats and other fitting animals for Consultation Division treatments once the Atlas Project is complete," Crosis offered brightly, watching the cat from his seat with a smile under his mustache. "We may yet find enrichment for patients from her species' 'charming qualities.'"

"The Medical Division isn't complaining," Troval crooned, "she's certainly been _charming_ to see on this station whenever I come aboard. Though _only_ if they're hypoallergenic breeds; I do _not_ want to be treating allergic reactions alongside augment extraction sites."

As the conversation wore on, Five had led Mimi towards a kick toy that CMO Bartholomew had left for her while in Commander La Forge's care, clicking the pointer off and letting the cat plop over to kick the fake fish to hell and back.

"She is successfully distracted, Commander, Director," Five boasted, returning her attention to the table with a proud grin. "We may proceed."

Geordi smiled. "Thank you, Five. Now, everyone: thank you for submitting your reports and proposals on time. _First_ and foremost," the Commander began, "Executive Director Hugh and I have decided to suspend all work and research into Chamber 5873 until _after_ the Midway Gala. We don't want any more accidents happening like yesterday's before a diplomatic event such as this, and we all want you all well-rested and focused as we get ready." 

Hugh picked up the declaration after Geordi tossed him a glance. "The only personnel permitted into Chamber 5873 for the next 7200 hours will be Hyades and Director Second Crosis for possible Consultation Sessions, Subcommander Vorik, myself, Commander La Forge, and possibly Admiral Janeway should she so wish to see it for herself during the site tours. is this understood?"

The table gave a confirmed "Yessirs." 

"Thank you for your compliance." 

"Now, going down the itinerary," Geordi hummed, pulling up a UI list, "reports are going in order of Engineering, Cybernetics, Medical Consultation, with Reclamation Project and Starfleet administrative notes to end on. Five?" the Commander chimed, "if you would?" 

"Yes, Commander." 

Her hand, already typing on a Reclamation Project PADD, flicked towards the hologram of the sphere as Mimi's collar tag absently jingled behind the table. A mockup of the central "tree" manifested in the hologram with notes branching off the top, bottom, and three alcoves, the xB's scarred hand zooming in on critical components.

"The Starfleet-Reclamation Project Engineer team is still in preliminary analysis as we excavate the "core" from excess fungal growth," Five started, "but from what we can tell, it is some sort of directional console. While on the surface it seems to be typical Borg fixtures, one removal of external plating reveals much of the technology to be quite 'uneven,' as if the Collective was directing the incorporation or even _testing_ of new technology. The three alcoves," she indicated, zooming in on the empty chambers, "while used for typical regeneration, seem to act as reroute 'backups' for each other, anchored by this console. The alcoves with the two deceased drones all had blown regeneration circuitry, both in sequence, and the third that... housed the drone that struck Hyades," Five continued, "blew immediately after her 'inoculation.'"

As Five spoke, Geordi followed as best he could, a hand rubbing at his goatee while he watched her hand point from alcove to alcove.

One drone fries, then another, then one barely survives?

Almost as if they _were_ testing something. Perhaps, even, still working out the kinks in whatever this was, and were all too content to use as many drones as needed to get it to work.

"You mention 'directional,'" Hugh noted, "what _kind_ of directional? Navigation? Queen-steered instruction for internal operations?" 

"We're still working on that," Five admitted. "It's been hard stripping that fungus out of the critical systems. After the gala, we hope to have extended reports related to this. The idea of it being a 'navigational' console would be odd, however, considering the Borg's usual methodology."

"Indeed," Vorik agreed, "all navigation-related computations would typically be housed in a Queencell and spread out through the drones, correct?" 

"Correct, Commander. I do feel the need to note, as an engineer," Five said, "that this chamber being so deeply buried into the sphere's hull suggests not only a desire to protect this technology, but to _anchor_ it to the very core of the hull, and henceforth its former host cube. You will find extended technical details in my written report, Sirs."

"Thank you, Five," Geordi affirmed, "your team's been doing great work already for just a day's time. Does this conclude your findings?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Junction V'evik, then," Hugh chimed, "if you would." 

As Five rescinded her own holographic diagram, V'evik nodded, accessing their PADD's data and flicking their cybernetic hand towards the projector. They displayed two separate diagrams: one of augments surrounded by an epidermal layer of skin descending into flesh and bone, and another dissecting extended details of certain parts of the alcoves in question.

"All three extracted corpses were transport type drones, although heavily _altered_ from typical 2370s transport drone templates. While I believe Junction Troval will delve further into detail of their _exact_ biological uniqueness, the Cybernetics Department's primary observations are their _cranial_ and _forearm_ augments," the Vulcan noted, the hologram indicating a piece that "flipped open" to show some sort of hole into the implant. "After the Medical Division completed initial autopsies, we noted that all three bodies had these cranial and forearm augments placed there _recently,_ and were connected to the alcoves themselves. Analysis of ocular implants showed a similar phenomena to that which we observed in Hyades... where we were _able_ to observe, at least; drones 1 and 2 had eye sockets completely enveloped in this fungus, whereas 3 we had to work quickly before we lost cybernetic and organic integrity on their organic eye."

"So these drones were hooked up to the alcoves _directly?_ " Geordi surmised, "and altered to do so rather than how most drones just... walk _out_ of regeneration cycles?"

"Correct. The cranial additions in particular have an extraordinarily large section dedicated to processing astrometrics-related information... which would lend to Five's postulation that this is related to some sort of directional apparatus; information being related to either internal functions, or the drones' root function of transport. And i must end my report on a significant, additional observation," they alluded, V'evik sighing and folding their hands. "Hyades has almost the _exact same type_ of augmentations as these three drones."

The group was silent as it absorbed this information. Geordi nodded, crossing his arms and settling into thought.

"Have any other drones pulled from dormancy had these types of implants?" Crosis finally asked.

"None that we can find, Director Second." 

Another bout of quiet lingered before Hugh piped up: "We thank you and the Cybernetics Division's astute observations, V'evik. Troval, EMH: if you would?"

Leaning forward, the Betazoid readjusted in their seat, tossing up their information once V'evik's was rescinded. The Doctor steepled his fingers as his and Troval's scans appeared before the group: three bodies were shown in dissections, notes regarding their physical conditions and places where fungi merged with limb and augment in highlighted panes. 

"I'm going to save information regarding the fungi for last," Troval sighed, "because we are, ah, _surprised_ by the very constitution of these transport drones. At first, it's usual suspects; they were manufactured and grown in the maturation chambers, bodies comprised of various genetic mixtures of Human, Brunali, Wysanti... but then we found _this_ creature 'mixed in:' DNA matching to the macrospecies of tardigrade that was injected into Hyades' biological and augmented makeup. Each drone possesses varying percentages of the aforementioned species in their protein sequencing, indicating that the three were all in various states of 'testing' for whatever this hookup is."

" _Hyades_ , by my preliminary scans," EMH continued, "was assimilated rather than _birthed_ by the Collective, and is completely of Wysanti makeup. The scarring around her forearms' implants _is_ rather fresh compared to her other augments, however, so it's possible she was to be 'next in line' after these three drones' testings... and ultimate _failings_." 

Geordi watched Hugh rub at his lips, the xB's brow furrowed in thought.

"Have we run comparative scans on the age of Hyades' implants and the other three?"

"Not yet." 

Hugh pulled his fingers away and pointed at nothing in particular. "Do that first," he noted, "we could possibly glean a comparison of whether or not this chamber was edited before the _drones_ were, afterwards, or built alongside these drones _and_ the implants on Hyades."

EMH grinned. "It will be done, Director."

"You were mentioning about the fungal growth, Troval?" Geordi reminded. 

"Mm. This is, by far, the most baffling part," Troval groaned, motioning their hand so that it brought up the tardigrade's genetic scans alongside the fungi from the corpses and Chamber 5873. "As you can see, these three's bodies were being eaten alive by some sort of forced interaction with _Prototaxites stellaviatori_ and the energy of their alcoves. Jumpstarted _irregularly,_ mind you, because most of their neural synapses were overloaded and caused soft tissue death. After doing some scans on the fungi and their genetic constitutions, however... these two organisms, we- have _little_ idea of how they're able to so harmoniously interact with one another, but they're a near genetic match on a fundamental level. According to the Starfleet records EMH has access to, this tardigrade species can exist in extremely hostile environments in space, consumes very little organic material for food... when it's not engaging in near photosynthetic conversion, and is also _extremely_ _rare;_ a living specimen has not been observed in open space since _2313_ in the Alpha Quadrant."

The Commander pondered. "Is it possible their similarities are due to a very specific condition created by the habitat it lives in?" Geordi asked, "or even common genesis or shared coexistence points? I was researching where it said this strain of fungi deposits its spores into empty space and it _has_ been found on Earth, and so _too_ does this macrospecies have its tiny relatives on Earth; maybe where one goes, one follows..." 

"As a coexistent, symbiotic species?" Hugh postulated.

"You got it."

Troval nodded. "That could be a factor, yes. EMH and I will note this in further theorizing."

"Our forthcoming research will be _thorough,"_ the photonic noted with a wiggle in his seat, "as much as it currently is _compelling_."

Leave it up to the Doctor to give his zingers. 

With a grin towards Hugh, the Director said what Geordi was thinking. "Thank you Troval, EMH; may your work be rewarding and informative. Now: last, but certainly not least..." 

Crosis grinned. "I hope not." 

"Hardly, Director Second. Reports from the Consultation division?" 

"Of course." 

Crosis, motioning his augmented hand towards the projector, raised notes regarding Hyades' observed behaviors, as well as comparative bullet points of other drones and various quotes. "We cannot discuss too many details here for the sake of each patient's privacy; you all know this. But when questioned about the chamber, every single drone we were able to interview was ignorant as to this place's very existence. We _do_ notice that _like_ Hyades, however, there is a faint realization that some of them can recount a... _sensation_ that they had forgotten something," Crosis elaborated. "This was starting to result in heightened states of anxiety for patients across the dockets, so questioning all outgoing patients related to this topic ceased yesterday afternoon before the Command Juggernaut left for Ohniaka III."

"Did anyone else mention anything about the three in the chamber?" Geordi asked.

"Nothing, Commander."

Hugh absorbed the information. "So Hyades, as of now, had the most prior context to us rediscovering this place." 

"Correct." 

"And Atlas?" Hugh continued. "Doctor, this question may apply to you _too_ after the Director Second has spoken; how has he been handling knowing an extra part of his hull has been unearthed without his knowledge?"

"His program isn't able to analyze the hardware directly and he must merely remain a hologram in there," Geordi acknowledged, "but...?" 

Crosis' mustache wriggled some as he chose his words carefully. "Reflective," he decided on. "He is as any freshly-severed xB is, Director; looking for purpose. Identity. Concreteness in the world around him, as _he_ tries to form a concrete sense of self. Finding 'inspiration,' as many of you have heard him say," the el-Aurian humored the table with. "It is difficult for him, reconciling and trying to solidify where _Atlas_ begins and the ship _itself_ ends _,_ much less being intended as a weapon meant for war and to harm others. I ask you all to continue offering him patience and kindness, whatever kind of interaction you may have with him. He has found himself especially drawn to watching over Hyades during our two Consultation Sessions there."

EMH continued on after Crosis. " _I_ had the benefit of being a localized program aboard my starship's resident Sickbay, Commander, Director. I can _hardly fathom_ the identity crisis I would face if I were the Sickbay _itself_ , much less the entirety of _Voyager."_

Crosis rubbed at his chin before grinning. "Ask him about gardening or mycology, should he bring up the subject," he mused. "Apparently he already has 'ideas' on how to efficiently organize the _Prototaxites_ samples down there, after spending the past 20 hours referencing what information he had."

The table shared a silent, communal grin. 

"In the wake of all this mystery and intrigue," the el-Aurian sighed as he leaned back into his chair, "before we get to closing assessments and Starfleet-Reclamation Project Itinerary... I feel as if we've forgotten to mention something _equally_ noteworthy." 

Geordi watched the Director Second with intrigue. 

"1,503 drones have been successfully Reclaimed and taken back to Ohniaka III, with this latest ferrying," Crosis said with a light grin. "We have risen past our previous marker of the largest amount of drones salvaged from a single location." 

Geordi felt a whipcrack of residual pride snap through him from the table's direction, the Junctions and personnel all uniquely reveling in the newest tally. Troval smirked and EMH hummed in pride, Five straightened in her heat with a quietly proud sigh, Vorik and V'evik (especially the latter) managed bewildered, pondering glances... and Geordi watched Crosis gaze at Hugh, the weight of their combined looks cluing the Commander into a 23-year history that he may never fully know the depths of.

"Thank you, Director Second," Hugh said after a peaceful pause. "You are wise to remind us. It is... _different,_ of course, when the working minds are also balancing a mystery of how these people arrived here in the _first_ place, but..."

Geordi tsk'ed with a knowing nod: "Oh, circumstances considering, I think Starfleet understands, Director. At least we'll get a few days to step back from it, and- celebrate what lives the Reclamation Project has already saved."

"It would not have been possible without Starfleet support, Commander." 

"Yes, and your _prescribed_ extended weekends are almost upon you all once this meeting is finished!" The EMH chided. "Shall we come to conclusions, sirs? I have a holo _gram_ I'm meeting for a holo _program_."

"Right. Well," Geordi sighed, "if everyone's reports are complete and we'd like to get those weekends _started..._ let's finish up by tying together some data."

By the time the Junction Division Meeting was complete and everyone was bustling into the hallway, the chronometer was ebbing into evening and Mimi was napping on Geordi's desk chair, the Commander happy to have this be the final business before beginning work for the Gala. Returning to this line of hypothezation was going to be a _future-_ Geordi problem, the soon-to-be Captain decided; in retrospect with this meeting, while they had more _names_ , they also had just as many _questions_ as when they all started. Space-time travel of a sphere maybe spurred by mysteriously-hidden technology? Did V'evik's riddle still play a part in this? Fungi? A tardigrade? Experimented-on drones? The former blended together with the latter? The Species 8472 War? For all the added-on mystery and theories these names and revealed clues brought, so _too_ did they bring intrigue, and Geordi couldn't imagine what else they might find.

Even if they didn't get to the bottom of Atlas' origin by the time the Reclamation Project's six months were completed, the Commander _and_ Director had one concretely humanitarian constant in a mission for xBs that gave Geordi comfort, purpose, and tangential pride.

Only 1,459 were left to go, Geordi thought; 1,459 souls left to pull from the Collective's void-like stasis it abandoned those drones in. For the rest of the meeting after Crosis spoke that number, that number lingered in and out of the Commander's thoughts. 

Wafted through them. Drifted out of them.

In.   
Out. 

> _[In]_

"Geordi?" 

Geordi opened his eyes from where he was leaning against his deck, the EMH having flickered out a few just moments prior and leaving Geordi the chance to sneak in a yawn with Hugh. "We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. ...And then the next day, and the _next_ day, and then _especially_ the day after _that_ , I guess," Geordi admitted in a quiet laugh, "but I think we've got it covered. We've been running a tight-enough operation so far these past three months. And hey, EMH is right; I think for that many drones taken care of in just three months, we could _all_ use a break."

"Trust me when I state that I am _grateful_ for such reminders; I have a... tendency to dip back into those antiquated, work-focused habits of mine."

"xBs _all_ kinda do," Geordi pointed out. "I hardly blame you, all things considering."

"I am _also_ merely grateful," Hugh noted with a smirk as he meandered closer towards Geordi, "for our last dance practice tonight before the 27th."

"Make sure you meet me at Holodeck _2 instead;_ Deck _1_ got snagged by someone else tonight."

"I will be certain to." 

Geordi continued to grin as the Director wandered closer, closer, and closer- until the space between them vanished, and Hugh's augmented palm rested on Geordi's cheek to greet him with their first kiss of the nearly-expired day.

The Commander spoke above a whisper. "How are you."

"Hmm... satisfied. Spent. Weary. And yet 'excited' somehow, despite it all. ...How are _you_ though," Hugh asked, "how was _your_ day."

"Excited for it to be _over_ , admittedly," Geordi sighed in a yawn, mushing a hand down over his face. "Might go and grab a coffee before tonight; if this is gonna be our last free night before Gala prep, might as well make it worth it and be... or no, no, not-- coffee, what's wrong with me... maybe a tea or something; that one I got from Vorik is pretty good."

Hugh tilted his head and waited for Geordi to complete another yawn (and further explanation of himself).

"Don't want any bad coffee breath for you, after all."

And Hugh understood Geordi's inferences by rolling his tongue against his cheek, the xB nodding at the Commander's words.

"How considerate you are."

"I try. See you at 1900, lovely?"

Geordi felt his grin grow into a wide, dimple-forming smirk as he watched Hugh blush and practically fluff up at the nickname. 

"I... yes I will, Geordi. See you tonight."

"See ya." 

In the quick pace of steps Hugh began to trot out of Geordi's office with, the Commander couldn't help but feel temptation nipping at his heels to try something. A desire to see if this vague, mystic-like concept Doctor O'Reilly was describing was _real._ Palpable. Provable in any way, shape, or form outside of Reclamation Project/Cooperation scientists. For even as the information from his meeting with the Junctions swirled in his brain and the taste of Hugh's kiss lingered on his lips, Geordi knew he had no inoculation to speak of, no way of knowing who or what the Collective's vast connection felt like... 

But it didn't hurt to try.   
Especially considering what he'd been noticing.

So the soon-to-be Captain allowed his heart to want what it wanted, and his thoughts to form especially-coherent sentences.

_Gimme one more smile before you go, Hugh._

> _One more._   
>  _[Just one more]_

And before Hugh left Geordi's line of sight in the Ready Room doorway, the Director's walk slowed, if not a fraction of a degree, Geordi catching a wider edge of a smile tugging at the edge of Hugh's lips as his eyes met his. 

Did he just--? 

Maybe this _was_ real.   
Maybe it was just love. 

Maybe it was _both_.

All things considered, Geordi wasn't too opposed to the idea of it being both.

The tag on Mimi's collar jingled again as Commander La Forge's Ready Room doors sealed shut.

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 25, 2391]  
SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_ **

> **_CH. 1, SECTION IV, PT. 2 - ~~ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION SOCIETAL STRUCTURE - INTERPERSONAL RELATIONSHIP OBSERVANCES REGARDING COURTSHIP~~ [UNPUBLISHED MATERIAL]_ **
> 
> _Alongside the gesture of exchanging old implants between individuals, there is one other courtship-related custom I feel need to mention, but not necessarily extensively document due to its newness, rarity, and intimacy between xBs. The Liberated Borg from Ohniaka III do not ascribe by typical marriage proceedings, as most other Alpha Quadrant sapients recognize it; they do not take parts of the other's name (as an xB's name is one of their most sacred belongings), nor are these "bindings" held in lavish, large-partied ceremonies. The act of union between two (or more) xBs is just as intimate as their respect for love is, but even the means by which to initiate the act is not exclusive to just "marriage," and I believe further context is needed to understand this._
> 
> _All former Borg have the inherent ability of broadcasting faint, ghost-like signals that other xBs are able to detect or rely on for social awareness. Like the pheromones of a human, the binding nature of mindmelded Vulcans, or even the telepathic ripples of empathy Betazoids send out to or read from those around them, all xBs carry with them a sense of awareness to their former (or current) kin of the Hive. It is how they are so easily able to tell if another of their ilk is in immediate or near presence, or sense the danger of an approaching monolith of the Collective even in the vacuum of space. While the very nature of this anomaly remains wholly mysterious in its vastness and scope, I am told that this sense of awareness dulls overtime the longer an xB is cut off from the Collective, and the ability to read another's thoughts is an ability lost in exchange for ripened individuality. Though while this extra sense may wane, it is never truly gone, and it remains with xBs for the rest of their lives in varying forms. Whether as a freshly-severed drone pawing for the thoughts of the Collective, or a Progenitor xB quietly taking refuge in the fact they are not alone in a room, xBs have created a network for themselves in community by proximity: both physically, and on a mental plane I could not hope to imagine._
> 
> _This is to say, however, that these "faint, ghost-like signals" can be occasionally jumpstarted, and the "varying forms" by which the xBs of Ohniaka III utilize these signals play a part into their courtship, or possible roads towards better mental health._
> 
> _A device called a "neural transceiver" (typically native to drones, although this is either shed or removed from them once the Collective deems them "unsalvagable") has the capacity to rekindle these naturally-occurring signals, temporarily establishing micro-links with a small group of xBs on a mental and/or physical plane that does not re-assimilate the individual. Like a subspace relay flings signals further across the galaxy from buoy to buoy, so too do neural transceivers strengthen these links, for either psychological weaning from the Collective's vast nature, or physical connection to a chosen partner(s). As such a sensitive nature implies for the connected individuals, the circumstances required to permit the use of these neural transceiver links is monitored with extreme caution, care, and respect as to not lose the subjects and their individuality they've worked so hard for. Consultation Division hosts must have a minimum of 10 Ohniakan years worth of individuality before taking part in these treatments, and partnered xBs wanting to initiate this connection must make a special request for personalized pieces. Bonded xBs will often request circular ports be ascribed into their skin on a chosen part of the body (I have seen the back of the neck be the most common, when augment space allows for this), as to signify where this burst of a union and window into their singular minds once took place._
> 
> _I know very little regarding the intricacies of these rituals, and perhaps that is for the best. I must remind myself at times that these acts and this_ culture _are still so new to the world; xBs_ themselves _are still understanding the personal and societal implications this ritual brings to them not only as individuals, but also as a people and mutual society. Perhaps one day, I and other xenoanthropologists will enter these spaces if so graciously invited. And in the meantime, may we not capitulate on sacred, beloved spaces of this fledgling faction- out of respect for both their preciousness of mind, and love I could only fathom how deep would run between people who have worked so hard to_ be _people in the first place._
> 
> _`[AUTHOR'S NOTE, TO BE REMOVED BEFORE SUBMISSION/PUBLICATION]: Inquire to the possibilities if any from the `_`USS Voyager's` _`crew had interactions with this technology during their Delta Quadrant travels. I must discern whether or not this is possible for non-xBs to take part in and determine their capabilities of interaction with these signals, or if I must be left to tend my own ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ regarding ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇,▇▇▇▇▇▇▇, and ▇▇▇▇.`_

"Compiled report assessments, Commander?"  
"Got'em. Updated interior schematics?"  
"Downloaded. Replicator ration comparison chart?"  
"Not to worry. Oh, geez, one more thing, almost forgot;" Geordi snapped his fingers, "chapstick?"  
Hugh tilted his head, watching a grin squirm on the other man's lips. "'Chapstick?'"   
"Yeah, y'know; gotta be ready to kiss an Admiral's ass and all--" 

> _["Kissing an ass"]  
>  [A crude metaphor to imply appeasement and favoritism in self-sacrifice of integrity]_   
>  _[Humorous]_
> 
> **`[ c l ev e r ]` **

Hugh shook his head with a scoff and an eyeroll as Geordi snickered, his visual UI saving the image of the Commander's dimples creasing under _Solstice's_ hallway lights. 

Geordi continued right along. "Janeway's her _own_ production, sure, but- when was the last time you've seen Seven, Hugh?" as they entered a turbolift. "Transporter Deck, Bay 1."

The Director's lips thinned. "Eight months, 25 days," Hugh said. "While her visits to Ohniaka III can be sporadic if she is not in immediate _need_ of something, she visits twice a year at minimum, for two occasions: celebrating Reconstitution with us... and marking the date of Icheb's passing." 

"One of the xBs _Voyager_ brought from the Delta Quadrant," Geordi remembered, "right... I remember reading about that. He's- buried there? On Ohniaka III?" 

"Seven brought him herself in 2386. It was one of the _first_ Starfleet-hosted ceremonies on the planet, since he was a Lieutenant and had rites to a service. We do not typically _bury_ the bodies of our dead," Hugh told him, "ashes are incorporated into foliage ecosystems and their implants imbued into Cube 5219's remnants, but... Seven said it felt appropriate for what he would have wanted."

Hugh noticed the pause Geordi left hanging.

And as if to tell him it was an acceptable silence, Hugh firmed his expression and held a faint grin. "I did not know him well since he was assimilated after my time leaving the Collective," Hugh continued, "but Icheb was a welcome presence for us when Reconstitution first happened, and we bade him well before leaving for Starfleet Academy. He is spoken of kindly, _fondly_ in our 23-year history... and it inspires us to keep ever-close connections with those of us who choose to join Starfleet." 

It comforted Hugh to see Geordi's expression somewhat brighten. "Do you know how many there are in Starfleet?" 

"272, per my last update and those known to the Cooperation. Most are still in some form of curriculum at the Academy, but I know of some _Progenitors_ in current, active service that will be attending on the 27th. _One,_ I believe," Hugh boasted as the turbolift arrived and the two stepped out, "has _just_ completed their first year aboard the _USS Pharagodia_ after departing for Starfleet in 2384."

"I offer my congratulations," Geordi said kindly. "What department are they in?" 

Hugh gave a bemused smile of pride for his soon-arriving kin. "Lieutenant. A starship's Counselor."

And the Director couldn't help but chuckle with Geordi as they rounded their ways into the Transporter Bay, Geordi nodding to the Transporter Chief there and listened for an update. 

"The Admiral's shuttle is on standby whenever you're ready, Sir," he rattled to them. "Two to transport." 

"Let's not keep them waiting," Geordi sighed. Then, turning to him, he straightened his back and spoke: "You ready?" 

"As much as I ever will be, Commander." 

"Mm. ... _Still_ got time to put some chapstick on, you know- the--" 

_"Energize,_ please," Hugh called in a playfully-vexed tone, the chief doing as told despite Geordi's laughter, and in shimmered in Admiral Kathryn Janeway with Seven of Nine at her side. 

The Admiral looked mostly the same as Hugh had seen her three months ago, though definitely more in her element aboard a Starfleet-built starbase. Seven, meanwhile... oh, Hugh realized he must have looked quite anticipatory, giddy, even _excited_ from her point of view, holding his hands tighter behind his back as she walked down with Janeway. Seven's dirty blonde hair was longer from the last time Hugh saw her even if bundled in a ponytail, she wore a long, formal coat that bore a Fenris Rangers badge on its lapel with a dark turtleneck accented by green and blackened trim, knee-high boots that had as much of an audible gait as the Admiral... and though she looked tired, though she appeared to have been scanning Geordi at Hugh's side, the _instant_ she turned her head in Hugh's direction, Seven cracked a smile measured by a 13% muscle movement.

He knew her, yes. She knew _him,_ yes.   
They _were_ each other once, after all.  
Now, of course, they were no _longer_ each other; forever independent to create their own personhoods.

And that was the beauty of xBs; discovering how great, how massive, and how _faceted_ life could be when given individual agency and room to flourish. 

"Why is it that _every_ _time_ I see you two, you're both cracking smiles like I missed the tail end of a joke," Janeway noted as her and Seven began to trot down the platform. "I'll give you this; it's _refreshing_ at the very least."

"No joking here about the arrivals of such distinguished guests, Ma'am," Geordi... sort of lied? Hugh couldn't quite tell as he listened to the Commander speak: "Admiral, Seven of Nine: good to see you. Welcome to specialty starbase _Solstice."_

"Likewise, good to see you two after three successful months of work here. I don't need to make any _extended_ introductions in regards to my wife," Janeway crooned, "but I'll be happy to boast her arrival and attendance with me."

Seven straightened her shoulders, quirking a bemused brow to the Admiral at her side. "It helps when the wife in _question_ is willing to offer circumstantial pardoning and a 'security escort' title allowing me to visit the premises. Commander La Forge, Director Hugh," the xB continued, "a 'pleasure.'" 

"Likewise," Hugh finally allowed himself to speak. "Commander La Forge and I are more than thrilled to escort the both of you after _your_ debriefing, Admiral. Seven, I am more than happy to provide a pre-emptive walk around _Solstice._ "

Janeway firmed her lips. "Knowing what's coming _later,_ mark me down as _looking forward_ to taking a walk."

Geordi and Admiral Janeway had Starfleet business to cover and forms to fill out before his promotion tomorrow, so Hugh was allowed free reign in a walk until they were finished. Seven found herself particularly drawn to the view of the sphere with Hugh, the Director happy to wander by her side and engage in whatever small talk she wished to pass the time with. The Junctions were all ending their daily duties to prepare for the Command Juggernaut's return tomorrow, reunions with Progenitors would have to wait (coupled with the amusement of watching Crosis envelop her in a hug), and Hugh hypothesized whether or not this had to do with her extra layer of... thoughtfulness? Silence? How could Hugh verbalize what he was noticing? Seven seemed to draw long glances down hallways and corridors, as if looking for something, some _one-_ her gait was on high alert at all times, and she even leered at Cybernetics Division members as they trotted to and fro their daily duties.

Hugh wondered, with a heavy heart, if Seven's thankless work with the Fenris Rangers, as well-intended as it was for the sake of the Beta Quadran's xBs, was taking more of a toll on her than even _she_ realized herself.

It was why now, as they stood in Atlas' windowed-audience, Hugh had had taken her hand after a gentle request to see her augments. After some hesitancy, Seven relented, and Hugh made certain to cradle and care for his friend's hand that reminded him so much of Crosis' own.

They were once each other.   
Now they were not.   
And touch, sometimes, proved to have all the words that, sometimes, could no longer be vocalized.

"Your ligament support framing is 10.4% more oxidized than when we last met," Hugh said softly, carefully turning Seven's hand over in his own as he traced her metallic ligaments. "I encourage you to V'evik's Cybernetics lab here before the staffers there leave for the evening. They could clean it for you, _and_ administer a proper checkup to ensure your wrist tubules are still nullified for emergency medical doses." 

She was silent- watching him before she spoke. "I will comply." 

"I do not ask you to _comply,"_ Hugh said, a grin forming as he continued to examine her hand, "I simply _suggest_ it. Your agency is your own."

Seven always had a way with poignant silences. 

And to her credit, it made it so that when she _did_ speak, it made the words shevocalized all the more meaningful. 

"Thank you. ...It's good to see you, Hugh," Seven noted. "It always is." 

Hugh's lips finally cracked a full smile. "Likewise, Seven. I am glad to see you safe and here for this occasion."

As he relinquished her hand, Seven tilted her head as her eyes darted over his face and she straightened her jaw. "Forgive me if it is 'out of place' to inquire, but I see you have a new scar where your holo-imager line is," she remarked. "And from its evidence, I am able to determine it was not _cosmetic_ related." 

Hugh rolled his jaw.   
One of the inevitable weights of individuality, xBs realized quickly, was learning just how _much_ of that newfound self you were willing to _share_.

"A patient and I had an altercation," Hugh told her. "Thankfully, the patient is recovering- that's all. Nothing too severe."

Her eyes thinned.  
Oh, his people's stares were potent, but Seven's could pierce _tritanium_ , it--

"Hugh," she pressed, "what _happened."_

Swallowing, he tried to stand his ground: "I have told you the _truth,_ Seven; it was simply a Consultation altercation. Were able to diffuse the situation and help continue their recovery..." he retorted. But the Director began to falter, seeing the concern that went unspoken, "and if you _must_ know details, know that I can only say so much for respect of the patient's _privacy_ \--" 

"Hugh." 

He stopped. 

"I know about the Queen you have here." 

And the Director shut his eyes with a furrowed brow, his shoulders beginning to sag under the weight of confession and a long, tired sigh.

 _That's_ who she was looking for.

"She has a _name_ now, Seven-" 

"Good for her; we _all_ do." 

"A name she chose of her own _volition--"_

"If only _we_ all had that luxury in the Collective," Seven pressed, looking back to him with... concern? Fear? Anger? So many words could describe her tone and expression as she continued: "What will she do once this project is complete and that _'volition'_ is freedfrom this place, Hugh? What makes you think she will _continue_ this neutrality towards the Reclamation Project, the _Cooperation;_ towards _you_ and _everyone_ that enabled this form of existence for her?"

"She could never go _back,_ Seven," Hugh retorted, "could you fathom the _damage_ she would inflict upon the Collective's integrity if she somehow _did?_ Look at what _my own_ re-linking caused in Cubesfall; if an installed subroutine did not _kill_ her first, most likely she would take-- millions, _billions_ of lives with her in a collapse like that--!"

Now Seven's eyes grew angry. "And _you_ intend to stand here and tell me you _advocate_ for her, then? Ignore her transgressions!? Her- a _Borg Queen-_ the ones who _directed_ us? Spoke as us? Weapons for the Collective's instinct, that--" 

"What were _we,_ Seven?!" Hugh pleaded. "What were we _all,_ if not technically guilty of blood on our now _individual_ hands?!"

His volume seemed to surprise her, so she let the Director make his case as he felt his strained expression fade. 

"I believe I can fathom how it may be... _difficult_ , considering your unique history and context. And though I can never perform direct action to mend the past, I am sorry for what you and _Voyager's_ crew endured on her and her sisters' behalf. But... please," Hugh asked of Seven, "I have worked very hard these past three months. Crosis, Troval- _everyone_ here has; not just on the Sphere and those still dormant, but _on_ her, _with_ her, and she has been _responding- willing_ to work with us! You know yourself, Reclamation is never--" 

"--instantaneous," she followed him with. "You are correct." 

"And make no mistake, I will not _excuse_ her; this Reclamation has not been neither instantaneous _nor_ easy, either. But... just as we all do, Seven; we endure. We adapt. If we are able to repurpose what the Collective so... _foisted_ upon us for the greater good of the Cooperation, our _Community_ , then-- it is _worth_ that effort. I _must_ believe that, and so must _every staffer_ that works in the Reclamation Project for Unreclaimed."

Hugh swallowed. "Perseverance from others' kindness is what saved me. It is what helped me understand the very _idea_ of singularity, yet also see that I did not have to be _lonely_ in my attempts to understand it. And if I may do that for her, then... I can withstand a few more scars. Because we have managed to build a Community that can help them heal..."

He paused, debating on whether or not to continue with this, knowing how sensitive of a subject it may be--   
But something pushed him forward.

> A bright voice.   
> _[A familiar voice]  
> _
> 
> _**`[co mforting]` ** _

"...just as _Voyager's_ built community helped heal _you_ despite your actions against them, too."

And with a heavy heart as he noticed the extra glint of excavated sentiment in her eyes, Hugh realized that he could not verbally lecture her without seeing the concern behind Seven's words... nor logic in wondering what Id might do once given the canvas of the galaxy by which to further paint her individuality.

"I do admit, however," Hugh admitted, "that I _also_ wonder what she will do once this project is complete. We will continue to monitor her in every respectable outlet as to determine whether or not she hides an agenda from us, but for now... she speaks of that in far-off terms. She is... 'content,' in the presence; and for now, considering the other work we're doing- we'll operate on that."

"All I ask, Hugh," Seven tried, "is that you do not _actively_ put yourself in situations that would inflict harm on you. Anyone staffing here, of course, but... especially you."

His lips pursed in a grin. "Your highlighted concern for me is noted and appreciated, my friend."

"And your _acknowledgement_ of concern is not an _agreement_ to my request."

Hugh was about to retort when he saw a grin tug Seven's mouth upwards, and he saw what she was trying to say. 

"I'll try."

Hugh meandered a pace closer to join her sphere-seeing view. "Will you be joining the Admiral and I's talk with her later?"  
"No."   
"Do you want to?"  
"No. I would prefer, actually, to meet this photonic xB the Doctor speaks so highly of," Seven asked. "I will request the Commander to escort us once he and Kathryn are finished with their meeting." 

Hugh nodded. "I understand. He would be enthused to meet you as well." 

And a small silence hung between them, the Director looking up to his taller, human friend. 

"Seven?" Hugh asked quietly. "Have you been well?" 

The xB swallowed, turned her head to him... and finally, allowed herself a faint smile, tinged with exhausted grief and weathered eyes. "Not wholly," she admitted. "Perhaps Kathryn is right. Perhaps it... _would_ be beneficial to shear time given to the Rangers so that I may visit Ohniaka III on a more frequent basis." 

Hugh's face finally began to brighten. "We would be honored to have you. I, in particular, would be _elated_." 

She tilted her head. "I would theorize that you 'miss' me." 

"A correct theory- a correct _sentiment_ I readily admit."

"A sentiment not _shared_ by many non-xBs." 

"Well- they are _irrelevant,_ as far as I'm concerned."

Seven's expression tried to hold back an amused, flattered grin and utterly failed in the face of his visual UI's noticings, Hugh relishing in a proud pout from boasting about his friend: the very wonderful, very _amazing_ Seven of Nine.

"Do you know?" Seven asked, " _why_ she chose the name she did? Kathryn informed me of it, and I have been pondering the nature and intent of her selection." 

Hugh mulled on her question, his processors mending possible answers together with the questions... until it came to him in a sudden clarity- as if the recent adaptations to Geordi's line of thinking had accessed the conclusion faster than Hugh's internal, singular microcalculations ever could.

"It makes sense once you get to know her."

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_ **   
**~~[CLASSIFIED LOCATION]~~ **

“Well…”

Sitting as the "moderator" of the Consultation chamber's table, Hugh's eyes went left.

He watched Id’s lips spread into a bemused smile, one of her prosthetic hands lazily pulling away a smoking pen as the deep green of her skirt and newly-replicated jewerly shone in the sterile light.

“Isn’t this _fun,_ Admiral.”

Hugh’s eyes went to the right. 

The Admiral Janeway in-question settled further into her seat, her shoulders rolling back to strengthen her posture as both her patience and eyes thinned. 

“‘Fun’ is certainly one way to put it. ...'Id.'” 

“Oh, I think it’s a right _ball;_ wouldn’t you agree, Director?” Id barked a sardonic laugh, tapping the metal casing of her pen as she shook her head in thought. "Mm. 'Fun' even _pales_ as a descriptor upon further reflection, I feel now."

Hugh sighed in his seat, resettling his folded hands and crossing his ankles under the table. “To each their own words by which to describe individuality and its experiences. Though I suppose the _timing_ is much better than compared to if this meeting, ah... happened a few _months_ ago.”

Id considered his sense of humor _and_ accuracy. “I will relinquish you _that,_ Director. But at least it returns me, in assurance, to my _earlier_ descriptor."

Janeway’s brow quirked. “You think you’re more _fun_ since your severance?”

“Oh I’d like to think so, yes. Not that I was a complete _bore_ three months ago,” she admitted, “but I certainly wasn’t as... _‘creative.’”_

“You’re already proving more _interesting_ than my last experience speaking with a Borg Queen was.”

“As I’ve heard the events recounted."

The manufactured ambiance of the Reclamation Consultation chamber from the holosuite SIM murmured absently in the background, Hugh resettling himself in the chair and paying mind to the two parties. In retrospect, the Director was thankful that Seven did not attend this meeting, for he could only imagine the kind of distraction she may inflict on what _needed_ to be a very focused, to-the-point conversation. Hugh did not know exactly _what_ Janeway was looking for when she requested this meeting, and he had no idea what Id _herself_ was looking to gain when she, surprisingly, _agreed._ Perhaps it was closure? Understanding. Maybe extraction, examination- laced with the thin veil of platitudes. 

But to Janeway's credit of understanding, Hugh wouldn't have trusted nor _permitted_ any other Admiral in Starfleet to host this meeting.

 _Maybe_ Picard. Maybe another xB such as himself- in another reality where Loc **Picard** did not quit and abdicate his responsibilities. 

Remembering hearing the news of Picard's departure always brought a note of... bitterness. Regret. _Frustration_ , rather; for he had been instrumental in being present at the Ohniakan Accords of 2379, and how Hugh's letter of well wishes went unanswered and unread. 

So as the Admiral and former Queen gathered their thoughts, Hugh thought to settle on a far-better memory from just two hours, 37 minutes ago; when Atlas greeted Janeway, Seven, and an outside view of himself for the first time.

> _Onboard the sphere, Seven tilted her head to the photonic xB when Geordi asked if he'd like to go back to Solstice with them. “A change in perspective is always refreshing for severed Borg; if not refreshing , it is certainly… challenging, at the very least. The_ favorable _kind of challenging, of course.”_
> 
> _“If you’d like that,” Crosis told Atlas, “I could call Junction Five and ask her to bring your transference device."_
> 
> _Hugh watched Geordi smirk with a wink. “I’d be happy to make it happen with Solstice’s hologenerators.”_
> 
> _Atlas’ jaw faltered some, his striking eyes darting between the group… until they settled back on Crosis, his lips tightening and shoulders resettling under the details of his jacket._
> 
> _“I would require your presence, Director Crosis,” Atlas said quietly, “and the Doctor’s as well, if you are not-- obligated to duties elsewhere.”_
> 
> _"One: I think Troval would understand, and two:," the EMH made special note to point, "I would not miss this for_ anything."
> 
> _Once onboard Solstice, Hugh made sure to log the particular memory of Janeway having a gleam of nostalgia in her eyes as she watched the two holograms._
> 
> _Atlas' hand pressed up against_ Solstice's _observation deck window, the hologram xB’s eyes wide as he began to trace the sphere’s shape against the sight._ _“Director Second,” the AI spoke, “who am I?_ What _am I, I wonder, as I... stand here, looking at what I once thought to just be ‘myself?’”_
> 
> _Hugh watched a grin ebb at Geordi's lips as Crosis, who was looking down to Atlas, set a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze._
> 
> _“Whoever you want to be,” Crosis said back, “and_ whatever _you want to be. But, considering everything so far… I quite like who and what Atlas is ‘inspired’ to be right now.”_

Id took in another drag from her pen.

“I’ve learned from joint Cooperation-Federation research, they were able to figure out which queen it _was_ that gave you such trouble upon your return to Terra Prime,” she tsk'ed, shaking her head and rubbing at her chin with a free hand. “136... Her directions always _did_ favor the more relentless and _desperate_ qualities within the fractals of our combined voice. Now that I am separated, I’m considering the possibility she wasn’t the most… _counseled_ and _reviewed_ for performance standards after the Species 8472 War.”

“Do you theorize the Collective and its overall functions could have been _affected_ by the War's costs particularly?” 

“Undoubtedly,” Id told her. “But even before that, before _all_ our engagements in 2367 and onward, there had been a… shift. A refocusing towards referencing more... ‘empirical’ approaches to assimilation.” 

Hugh, though quiet, was listening intently, watching Janeway run a hand back and forth over her chin.

“What do you think it was that _pushed_ this line of thinking?”

“ _It?”_ Id asked with a smirk. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Admiral.”

“Was there a certain… event?” Janeway asked with a sigh, “something you think that could’ve pushed the Collective towards Alpha Quadrant space in the way that it came? Maybe even a... certain _figure,_ a certain event, or...”

Id mulled on an exhale of smoke.

Hugh, admittedly, had his interest piqued too, and refolded his hands at the table to resist fiddling with his mouth.

Id caught his fidgeting, and the Director felt a spark of irritation when she dismissively wave a hand in his direction. “This doesn’t concern _you_ , surprisingly,” Id sighed, “but you were undoubtedly a… what is the word I heard Commander La Forge use the other day? The metaphor, rather? It was something falling onto another, weight leading to larger events--”

“A ‘domino?’”

She snapped a prosthetic hand: “Yes, there we are; thank you. You were a part of that ‘domino effect,’ Hugh, but not the inception. ...Look at that, Janeway,” she smirked playfully, now pointing at Hugh and looking him up and down, “and here to think _I_ used to be a self-thought Director."

The Admiral steered clear of that musing for now. “Could you tell me _anything_ for certain what... caused that advance?"

Id pondered.   
Janeway waited.

Finally, the former Queen thought aloud: "I am debating how much to tell you. Not because I owe any _allegiance_ to either you _or_ my sisters, but... verbally admitting innate knowledge, I am finding, is quite..."

Hugh spoke up. "Liberating?"

She firmed her lips. "Yes, actually. 'Organizational,' even. And here to think Queens pride ourselves in being the supposed 'voice' of the Collective."

Id took another quick puff. 

"Our arrival to the Alpha Quadrant was always inevitable. We would have come one day or another, spurred by long-distant visions and voices of aimless assimilation in our quest for perfection. But the date you know as Stardate 42761.3... I hope that date lives in infamy for you as much as it does us. ... _Previously_ 'us' I suppose, but."

Hugh swallowed as an unnamable, residual guilt lurched in his gut.

Janeway rolled her tongue against her cheek with a nod, Hugh likewise recognizing the date as the Admiral followed her. "The _Enterprise-D's_ encounter with the Borg in 2365. Of course."

"Imagine, Janeway," Id mused in that silky voice of hers, "as if you were in the pitch black of night and had never seen anything else but stars. Ambling on, continuing an eternal routine as usual; submerged in the constant hum of billions' worth of voices, spread out as thin as a tapestry- set to fulfilling an endless task of reaching endless stars. And then, one day, out of that infinite space between those stars... you see a _supernova._ It fills you with... intrigue. Curiosity. An unspeakable pull that draws your attention. The drone, the part of us that touched the _Enterprise-D's knowledge_ for the _first time_ and saw what we could have? What we could assimilate, what we could _incorporate_ into ourselves?"

Id put a hand over her chest and gripped the golden body chains that jingled over her bare chest. "I had... _we_ had no use for descriptors at the time, the Collective and I. They were irrelevant, of course; and to an extent, they _still_ are. But oh, now that I am free to _use_ those descriptors, Admiral, the instant the information reached us, it was... _captivating._ Pure exhilaration, with no ulterior motive than to simply add to our Collective knowledge-even if we did not have the individual clarity to comprehend the meaning of the word 'exhilarating.'" 

Hugh allowed his eyes to shut at the faint, residual memory. 

> _[We turned towards that light]  
>  [Lured by information]   
> [Collection]  
> [And carried that instinct towards that new light]_

"You are _aware_ of the individual," Janeway said somberly, "the entity that... _allowed_ that meeting to even happen in the first place, correct?" 

"Yes."

> _[Q]  
> _ _[Learned from the assimilation of Locu **Picard** ]_

Id pulled the smoking pen from her lips, the former Queen's eyes distant and her face eerily stony as she looked at her own prosthetic hand that held the device.

"I should like to utterly, completely, and wholly _ruin_ him one day."

And although Hugh did not allow any physical sympathy to show, the Director felt as if he understood Id just as well as he did during their conversation on Atlas' catwalk four days ago.

Janeway sat back in her seat as she roiled in this information. "There are those who would share your sentiments, you know." 

"Good. They'd be fools _not_ to." 

"I've had my fill of encounters with the Continuum, and if it's any comfort, they're not _all_ as aggravating," the Admiral tried to offer. "My own experiences as a Captain were enlightening enough, weighing Q juxtaposed to the Borg."

"I congratulate an xB for surviving our great expanse and achieving the rank of _Admiral,_ if anything.”

Hugh watched Janeway’s lips thin at the obvious prod.

Id noticed.

“They like to pretend you’re _not,_ don’t they,” she crooned, Hugh giving a slow and steady eyeroll in his seat. “They like to _forget_ their valiant Delta Quadrant explorer did not so often brush her hand against the Collective's fine tapestries. Even if your _mind_ was not within us, oh… we were in its _audience_. A Starfleet captain, offering us an alliance against this foe we could not even _fathom_ defeat from,” Id mused, bobbing her crossed, stilt-like leg somewhat at the memory. “If our sisters will never tell you what I am about to share, then I will. ...You shook them that day with your offer, Admiral. You _rattled_ their self-imposed thrones, almost as much as Hugh did in 2368.”

Janeway sat up a little straighter.

Id continued. “Your voice, for as small as it was in the face of our billions, was strong. Defiant. And it made them, made _us_ realize, if not for a _fraction_ of a second… that their quest, as they had been going about it, may have been in vain, if it meant they had to ask for help.” 

“What quest?”

“You forget so easily?”

Id took another drag from her pen.

“Perfection,” Id reminded her with a wide, teasing smile as the smoke wafted out of her lips. “For how perfect is a civilization if it must ask for ‘help’ in a war that it so boldly started?”

Hugh watched Janeway consider her words. 

“Would you call yourself a collaborator in this war?” she asked. “A victim?” 

“I have been informed that it _is_ possible to be both,” Id relented. “And it is within these same paradoxes that other former Borg could be just-as-well blamed for the Collective’s conquerings. I will let Starfleet settle its moral quandaries when it realizes that individuals are faceted beings with their own intent and agency, once they are outside the Collective… and realizes that Starfleet _itself_ has flaws that others will always, inevitably, want answers for.” 

Hugh's eyes darted to the Admiral, and she was pensive, a hand running along her temple in obvious thought.

“Let's... get back to a simpler question, if that's alright. ...What do you _want,”_ Janeway asked plainly, “after this is all done. What do you plan to _do_ with your individuality, once the Cooperation brings this vessel back to Ohniaka III?”

“If you’re expecting to hear that I have grand, elaborate plans to go ‘gallivanting off to find the Collective’ and reconnect myself to conquer Sector 001, you’re going to be disappointed,” she chuckled airily. “‘What I want…’ a divine concept it is, individual agency. ...Truth be told, Admiral, I don’t quite _know_ yet,” Id admitted as her pen tumbled between her fingers, “And I happen to be _alright_ with that. I have been given a temporary purpose here, at least: assisting in helping solve the mystery in the form of this sphere and its arrival here. What comes after _that?_ Well. I suppose, as any good and proper ‘individual’... I’ll let _experience_ be my guide. Life itself; autonomously lived.”

At this, Hugh finally allowed himself a little smile.

But he still sensed Janeway's wariness and just how closely she continued to watch the former Queen. 

Before Janeway could speak, Id continued: "Ha! Look at me; speaking of intent, I nearly failed to _mention_ this, getting so caught up in our high-minded talks of singularity... so, before I am distracted again: if you're wondering, Admiral, no," she alluded, "I _won't_ be attending your little party in two day's time." 

This caught Hugh's attention, though inwardly he let loose a sigh he did not realize his anxiety was holding in. "You won't?"

"No," she said casually. "I have learned to know when I'm not wanted, not to mention the... _'spectacle'_ I would turn myself into. 'Take away from the Reclamation Project's work' and all that. Perhaps I will relish in such attention one day," Id mused, "perhaps I will find myself adorned and basking in company like that of a proper 'Queen.' But for now, that is..." 

Id swallowed. 

Janeway's chair creaked under her.

> _[Too many people, too many voices, too many unfamiliar faces]  
>  ['Overwhelming']_

"You don't have to say something if you don't want to, Id," Hugh assured her. "I'm just... glad you recognize this now, before attending and inadvertently burdening yourself with avoidable stress." _  
_

By her quiet glance, Hugh could tell she listened and at least _considered_ his words.  
But Id turned back to fully face him now, the potency of her analytical stare locking him in place. 

"I would, however, like to at least _watch_ part of it," she requested. "If not to listen for what I predict to be an _incredibly_ rousing speech for those attending, Little Prince."

Hugh's face flattened and his brow quirked at hearing the new nickname. "That's a new one." 

Id's grin, strangely enough, was wistful in the way it creased her forehead's impact scar. 

And she tapped her pen as her eyes looked Hugh over, seemingly forgetting (or disregarding) Janeway's presence entirely.

"It's not to me."

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 26, 2391]  
SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION COMMANDER'S READY ROOM**

> _`[PERSONAL LOG | LT. CMR. DR. Amadeus O'Reilly | Stardate 68125.49] ` _
> 
> _Regarding the subject of the entry I made in submitted publication Chapter 1, Section IV, Part 2, I must write this for my personal log, and additional observance notes of xenoanthropological notes._
> 
> _Or at least_ document _what I have noticed happening to me._
> 
> _After 10 months on Ohniaka III, I believe these aforementioned "unspoken frequencies" have begun to effect me in ways I could not predict._
> 
> _And they have made themselves known in existential, enlightening, and personally harrowing ways I would have never expected._
> 
> _I have written previously in my publication that 'no-one outside of xBs may ever fully understand them.' I continue this belief, and in fact may now even_ sympathize _with it, on a certain level._
> 
> _So I shall clarify my thoughts further; I can only hope writing proves to be an effective outlet._
> 
> _I shall never be a cis man, and that is alright. I do not wish to ever trade this part of who I am_ _, in fact; I merely wish to exist, and I simply wish to live as I am able in my ever-growing understanding regarding human concepts and exploration of gender, both at large and what it makes me as an individual._
> 
> _No-one untouched by the Collective may fully understand an xB, and that is alright. xBs do not wish the Collective to ever take nor steal_ anyone, _in fact; they merely want to exist, and live as they may: strengthened by their ideas relating to transhumanism, individuality by communal support, and so employing the tools they've "reclaimed" by which to forge their own paths (and identities) further._
> 
> _I have realized the similarities._
> 
> ~~_Is this another side effect? Another residual phenomenon?_ ~~
> 
> _My trans, non-binary, and other GNC associates and friends will see gender from a different perspective than I do. Though we share a common bond in kinship, our experiences separate and yet also unite us. Inform us. Others around us, then- they begin to question the intricacies of gender, individuality as a whole- their very_ perspective _broadens on what could be, merely by exposure, and perhaps this even may encourage others to delve into themselves! For xBs, this is even greater in scope than my personal ideals of humans' gender spectrums: just a single species, dealing with_ one _concept! Imagine now, if you will... ~~who am I asking to 'imagine,' this is my bloody diary~~ \-- an entire _people _attempting to understand personhood_ itself _, and all the variances that impact it! Personal identity, species, varying cultures within species, sexuality, gender, religion, customs; imagine it! Horus and I have spoken so deeply of this manner; ponderously and thoughtfully, and my mind races in the immensity of it all, so many hours has he entertained my mind on that which I could lose myself in for hours..._
> 
> _To my erring as a xenoanthropologist, I have fallen in love with the Liberated Borg Cooperative. ~~One in particular, but I cannot tell him~~_ ~~now~~ _~~after my momentary blunder in the pavilion today.~~ After 10 months of living with them, being _welcomed _by them and their people, culture, their way of life and their beautifully-defiant history, I realize now I could explore them and myself forever in my realized kinship. An integral part of who I am has been touched by these peoples' very core values in ways I did not expect, and in ways that has made me openly weep upon this realization. I pray that I may be forgiven of whatever cruel assumptions of pity or disregard I once had for them be removed from my eternal soul, so my conscience may not be drowned by guilt rooted in ignorance._
> 
> _Let me live by the ideals in which they exist: the idea of eternally relishing in who they are now, as compared to who they once_ were. _Not in looking upon past selves in disdain, but in pride of their current selves, and eternally highlighting what parts they wish to sharpen to continue that journey forward in time._
> 
> _My thoughts race from this realized truth. The affirmation, the kinship that I am seen, that I am not alone- in whatever crisis individuality subjects me to.  
>  My heart wants to know more._   
>  _I see why the idea of "love" for them is so significant._   
>  _And I can only fathom how deep this feeling runs for people who were once smothered by the Collective._
> 
> ~~_What could I and my small, vulnerable mind hope to give him. What could he possibly want from me._ ~~
> 
> _The Reclamation Project speaks of "Temet Nosce." "Know Thyself."_
> 
> _I know thyself, yes. To an extent. That process never truly ends for xBs, for this fledgling people- as they learn more about themselves as impacted by the others around them. The same can be said for us, for any individual, but..._
> 
> _Oh, how it is an infinite, paradoxical wellspring._   
>  _And I feel as if I have barely begun to glimpse at how truly, unfathomably deep that well runs._
> 
> _`[END WRITTEN PERSONAL LOG]` _

The soon-to-be Captain La Forge continued to lean on his fist as he finished reading... until his shoulders sagged from the weight that lingered in his soul, Geordi rubbing at his face with both hands while his beard scratched his palms.

_He had a lot to talk about with Dr. O'Reilly tomorrow, didn't he._

Because all this did was affirm that he _definitely_ had to confess what he was feeling to Hugh before the Gala tomorrow. 

And before he could work up the courage to hit his combadge and get this off his chest before his promotion in a few hours, said combadge chirped.

 _"Ensign Behr to Commander La Forge from Ops,"_ called the staffer. _"I have, uh... reports of three Federation starships that will be exiting warp in 1 minute, 30 seconds and are requesting orbit clearance."_

Geordi's eyes widened and his gut wrenched, mentally affirming that it _was_ still the 26th-- what on earth, who, what, how did--

He flew up and out of his chair. "Wh-? Ah-- w-what starships now, Ensign?" 

_"The..._ USS Titan, USS Enterprise-E, _and_ USS Pasteur, _sir-"_

Three of them.   
That meant four of them. _  
_

 _What!  
_ _WHAT?!_

> _Bastards! All of them! Catching him off-guard for his promotion, how did--  
>  What was it, a sleepover, did the Admiral know about this!?_

They were gonna be here for his _promotion_ , he realized.  
Maybe they even asked to come _early_.

And suddenly, with a wild and rapidly-spreading smile, Geordi La Forge realized how dearly he'd missed his friends. 

"How fashionably _early_ some folks are arriving, I guess," La Forge mused to his combadge as he papped his face repeatedly. "Grant them to, uh-- orbit clearance and tell landing parties to meet us in Transporter Bay 2 at the top of the hour. Yeah, there we go- La Forge out." 

With an amused "Yessir" and a fizzle out on the Ensign's line, Geordi plapped his chest again as he hurriedly preened himself in the mirror. "La Forge to Admiral Janeway," he chimed, "Admiral, were you aware--?" 

_"They begged me not to tell you, Commander,"_ crackled her voice on the other end. _"I'd normally supersede a request like that, believe me; but considering your history, the amount of people we'll be receiving here tomorrow,_ and _the fact_ _this was already going to_ be _a small ceremony, well- I thought it proper to indulge your former crewmates."_

"Lucky us, our _hosts_ have an _appreciation_ for spontaneity," the soon-to-be Captain humored. "I told them to meet any arriving personnel in Transporter Bay 2, Admiral; I'll notify the Director immediately." 

_"Enjoy your company with them, La Forge; Subcommander Vorik, Seven, EMH and I have been catching up. Over and out."_

With a nod and a huff, Geordi affirmed that he did, indeed, look alright.

And that he was going to choke the life out of all his dearly beloved friends.

Walking towards his Ready Room's doors, Geordi activated his combadge yet again: "Director Hugh," he called, "I trust you've heard the news of our early arrivals?"

 _"You should see the commotion over here on the Juggernaut_ ," Hugh said, Geordi grinning at practically hearing the smirk drip from his voice. _"May Crosis and I attend? We can be there in about 4 minutes, we're about to pause for--"_

And down the hall from his Ready Room, Geordi was greeted by a wonderfully bustling sight.

Congregating to _Solstice's_ windows one by one to get a better view of the arriving vessels, the heads of Reclamation Project staffers and Starfleet personnel were bobbing up, over, around, and under one another as each one took in the soon-to-be starship-littered sight. Following their excited points and murmurs, Geordi saw that the _Titan_ had pulled up first (because of _course_ Will and Deanna had to be first), the Luna class starship taking up residence in between Atlas' hull and the Command Juggernaut. But while the view of the _Titan_ was its own spectacle, Geordi found himself mesmerized, touched, and even _amused_ by how thrilled the crew was, in welcomed and jovially-shared company. To his own distaste, the Commander recalled how skittish and hesitant the Starfleet personnel were in being such close range to xBs, and the xBs, understandably, wary and defensive in their interactions away from the safety of Ohniaka III. It was all the more remarkable and affirming to see Starfleet hands rest on and playfully shake the shoulders of Reclamation Project harnesses, xBSL being signed between staffers to remark notes about the _Titan's_ warp nacelles, Starfleet officers make room for xBs to ask their own starstruck questions...

_"Geordi?"_

"Sorry, sorry, got a little distracted-" Geordi chuckled, "you and Crosis come on over as soon as you're able. See you soon."

The Director gave an amused hum on the other end. _"Understood, Commander. Over and out."_

And before Geordi could revel in the sight a little longer, the _Enterprise-E_ dropped out of warp to the gasps and excitement to the already-gathered crowd.

"It's the _Enterprise!"  
_ "The _Enterprise?!"  
_ "Yeah, look look, there- that's a Sovereign class alright!"  
"<I am aware they're at least 700 meters long, but to see it in _person-_!>"  
"I can't believe what good precision its got to already be starting orbit procedures!"  
"Oh my god this is so COOL-!"  
"Is Worf captaining it again?!"

 _That Klingon was gonna_ hate _how popular he was._

"Right you are, Ensign," Geordi crooned, and he couldn't help but laugh in good humor as nearly a dozen Starfleet and Reclamation Project staffers staggered and turned back around to face their superior and soon-to-be Captain. "My guess is he'll have her crew park right on top of us, since I imagine Captain _Crusher_ will wanna have the _Pasteur_ between _Theta_ and _Iota_ again..."

The Ensigns and Relays were left sputtering and gobsmacked where they stood: both at the idea that _another_ Starfleet vessel was apparently about to arrive a day before the Gala, _and_ the fact their commanding officer had just snuck up behind them all in their excited revelry. 

"At ease, everyone," Geordi chided with a wide smile, "believe me- they're taking _us_ by surprise, too."

"Why are they here, CaptAaaAa..." the Ensign looked to Geordi's three pips before finishing, "aaAamander? Commander? ShouldwecallyouCaptainyet?" 

"Apparently when you're a Commander at my age, you need to watch out for your old _shipmates_ sneaking up on you for your promotion and getting here before tomorrow's hustle and bustle. And 'Commander's' still good for now, but thanks for making sure." 

One xB began to sign: "<When is your promotion, Sir?>"

"<Got a few hours, but apparently for _some people, >" _he spoke aloud while signing back, eyeing the _Titan_ and _Enterprise_ out of view, "<that can't come fast enough.>"

"Do we-- need to do anything, Commander La Forge?" asked one xB. "Is there anything we must- prepare for, as Reclamation Project staffers?" 

In the time the Relay spent talking, Geordi glanced down to examine the pattern on their vest. Hugh had been teaching him how to read the visual indicators of a Reclamation Project harness: the part of a uniform unique to every xB that gave a small list of facts about the individual wearing said vest. While the details were still a lot to visually take in and read compared to how quickly actual xBs' analytical vision could decipher them, Geordi was beginning to remember some key details and glyphs, hoping his memory was at least _partially_ right about the language of these vests.

Human. Reclaimed... 4 years ago? Five? Lost to the Collective for 10. Relay. Nonbinary. They/he. Cybernetics divis-- no, no, the arch downward and back up into the layered square meant _engineering_. 

The memory of his mindmeld with Vorik and deepened understanding of V'evik flit through his mind and tried to shudder against Geordi.   
It did, somewhat; but it only rattled his appreciation for who (and what) these people had managed to become despite it all.

The Commander grinned. "Something tells me they're gonna let their crew rest on their _own_ ships before the Gala, but that's not to say you _might_ see some curious new faces in at Armstrong's bar tonight. And at the risk of sounding cliche, Relay," Geordi hummed, "just be yourselves. The Reclamation Project knows how to do that better than anyone, after all." 

The Relay nodded with an assured expression. "Thank you, Commander." 

"Of course. And ohhh, speak of the devil- turn back around, Relay!" Geordi laughed, for the _USS Pasteur_ had just dropped out of warp, and the gang was all here to Geordi's bubbling delight. "I'm gonna let y'all enjoy the sight since I've gotta get to Transporter Deck 2- carry on, everyone-" 

"T-thanks, Sir!"

Practically sprinting down the hallway, Geordi finally made it to where Hugh and Crosis had just beamed in, the Executive and Second Director practically bouncing in place as they pleadingly looked to the Commander with Hugh's head tilted towards him. "Did you--?"

"Oh hell no!" Geordi laughed in disbelief, "apparently four Captains can bully an Admiral into not _saying_ anything, can you believe it?!"

"It's for your promotion, we guessed?" Crosis piped. 

"Most likely; who knows, I might just get bold enough to do that _myself_ once I've got the title too." 

Hugh chuckled. "Please, do _not_ ; you'll shock the cortical nodes into a complete stun whatever poor souls you're working with."

"I don't think some of the staffers had ever even _seen_ this many Federation ships in one place!"

"Ahhh- first time for everything, Crosis."

"Commander, Directors," the Transport Chief called, "I have four to transport from the _Pasteur, Enterprise-E,_ and _Titan."_

"Let's get on with it," Geordi sighed. "Energize."

And out of the transporter's light shone Captain William Troi-Riker, Commander Counselor Deanna Troi-Riker, Captain Beverly Crusher, and Captain Worf.

"O Commander, my Commander!" Riker crowed as he sauntered down the transporter's steps with Deanna, the smile under his salt-and-pepper beard just as wide as it was proud. "See? That's gonna sound a lot _better_ when I can say ' _Captain_ ,' don't you think." 

> _Stupid fucking slab of a man, he oughta--_

With a shake of his head and a roll of his tongue against his cheek, Geordi was _desperately_ trying to fend off an inevitable smile as he watched the four descend. "You've got the Project and I's _entire_ staff riled up with your all's lil' showboating out there, I hope you know that--" 

"Oh, Geordi, believe me when I say the _Titan's_ crew was _just_ as enamored seeing a former _Borg sphere_ and _three_ Cooperation vessels in one place," Troi hummed as they approached, Deanna and Beverly tossing each other charmingly-warm glances down the steps. "Our helmsmen hadn't even _seen_ Reclamation Project tactical cubes in person yet."

" _Theta, Iota,_ and the Juggernaut all look as stunning as I remember them from my last visit," Crusher noted. "The sphere makes quite the centerpiece with everyone's ships here." 

"The Command Juggernaut's size is... _impressive_ ," Worf spoke in that low voice of his. "I had forgotten how large its class was from our _last_ encounter with one." 

"And you'll see how big it is on the inside _tomorrow,_ Worf. Welcome to the Atlas Project, everyone," Geordi chimed, setting a hand on Hugh's shoulder, "it's an honor to host you guys alongside Executive Director Hugh and Director Second Crosis here."

In that shoulder squeeze, Hugh was a little stiff. Nervous again, like he was with Crusher's arrival. 

> **`[di ff erent new ag e d old er wi s er]` **

So he tightened that squeeze on Hugh's shoulder, and Geordi suddenly realized this felt a _lot_ like introducing your new boyfriend to the family.

"I, ah... C-captains," Hugh managed, "and, Commander Troi-- yes, welcome. Forgive me, it's--" the xB swallowed and recollected himself, "I'm just now realizing as I did with Captain Crusher that it's- been a long time since I, _we,_ Crosis and I-- have seen some of you. And I am happy to _welcome_ you now, instead of... well. I have a lot of _words_ by which to describe the circumstances of our last meeting, but I'd rather not dwell on those memories." 

"The same can be said for _us,_ Director," Riker said in that warm voice of his. _"And_ I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we're just happy... _and_ humbled," he made a point to note, "to meet you again, _and_ other xBs, in far better 'circumstances.' The crew of the _USS Titan_ thanks you _and_ the entire Reclamation Project for your hospitality."

" _And_ the _Pasteur-"_

 _"And_ the _Enterprise-E,"_ Worf ended with. "Additionally, I offer you _early_ platitudes on behalf of the Klingon ambassadors that I know will be arriving tomorrow."

Hugh smiled at the gestures, nodding to Worf in flattery at his extensions.

Geordi's chest fluttered.

> _You're doing great, hun._

"I thank you for the extra regards, Captain Worf. And... not only 'better circumstances,' Captain Riker," Hugh repeated, "but much less _dingy_. xBs take it upon themselves to not speak for or _over_ their kins' individual agency, but I'm quite glad we've, ah- grown _out_ of a cave in the span of 23 years. ...Both- literally and metaphorically, I suppose."

"And _I_ am only glad my meeting with you all is not on the bridge of an _Enterprise_ ," Crosis followed Hugh with, hands behind his back and trying to keep a straight face for his friend. "I greet you all in furthered clarity, and... past apologia." 

Worf and Riker turned to him with their own quirked brows, Deanna nestling into Beverly's side as she also looked _(ogled, he saw that, what did I tell you Bev)_ at the el-Aurian. "You look very different than our previous altercation on the _Enterprise-D,_ " Worf noted. 

"I would hope so. Time does an xB well when away from the controlling influence of a vindictive, narcissistic android."

Riker was the first to reach his hand out and offer a shake. "Well, Crosis," Will started, "if it's any assurance... nice to meet _you_ in better circumstances, too."

"I sensed much internal conflict within your group when Lore brought us before you and your comrades," Troi noted gently as the men shook hands. "I am relieved to determine what I felt _then_ is very much gone _now,_ Director Second." 

"He makes a _very_ good soux chef, Deanna," Crusher crooned as she spidered over Troi's shoulder, "you should ask the Directors about their cioppino recipe."

"Ahhh, another chef then!" Will exclaimed as he took his hand back. "Imzadi, I love you, but I am _not_ making another pizza over the weekend; I need the whole holodeck for that wood-fire oven program, and Worf broke my last paddle..."

Crosis' patchwork brow rose, already somewhat stunned at the direction the conversation went. "A- 'paddle?' What do you need that for cooki--"

"It is a wooden tool by which to move the pizza around or remove it from the oven," Worf growled at Will, "but _Captain Riker_ did not inform me it was a _real one when I gripped it too tightly--"_

"Ah- you too, then," Crosis chuckled nervously, "I ah, have- _also_ broken cookware before. --By accident. Hugh is the better chef between us."

"Nothing a replicator could not repair nor _replace_ , my friend," Hugh assured with a loving grin. "Which, everyone; Admiral Janeway is waiting with Subcommander Vorik and other personnel; may we depart?" 

Will allowed with an outstretched hand. "Lead the way, Directors."

The closest to the Transporter Bay's doors, Crosis began to make his way out first with Worf, Riker, and Deanna close behind... but before Geordi and Hugh could even turn to depart, Beverly leapt upon them both with another hug as she had in their first meeting, the Commander laughing out a "déjà vu" as they were snatched into the embrace.

Geordi always felt like he could stay forever in one of Beverly's hugs; but this time it seemed _extra_ special, because they hugged each other with hardly any care for space between them.

And as she began to pull away, Crusher's eyes darted between him and Hugh. "You both have been practicing, I hope?" 

"Oho, very much so, Bev."

"Do you enjoy watching the dance routine known as 'Tango' by chance?"

The Captain smirked. "I think I'll enjoy it a lot _more_ watching whatever _you two_ have planned with it."

Pointing his finger between himself and Hugh, Geordi spoke above a whisper: "Have you told them about--"

"No. Nono, no- I wouldn't take that from you two."

But she squinted, pursed her lips... and suddenly held her fingers in a pinch.

"...Maybe Deanna. Just a little bit." 

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION ~~COMMANDER'S~~ CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS**

It was 15 minutes until the soon-to-be Captain La Forge had to be in his own Ready Room for a promotion, and yet Geordi was all too happy taking his sweet time in his quarters getting ready with a certain Executive Director. The two, dressed to the tee in their factions’ dress uniforms, were quiet in company to the station sun’s light, Hugh doing Geordi the honor of fastening Geordi’s collar, pips, and affixing his soon-to-be-replaced Starfleet badge. While Geordi imagined his crimson tunic of a uniform with a fresh shave looked suave with his rings and diamond studs as a topper, Hugh was radiant in his own way; the jet black, geometric patterns of his elegant cloak shining against the silver-and-gold embroidery detailing, and the cubical Reclamation Project badge practically gleaming on his chest. Even Hugh’s implants looked a little more polished than usual; the three stabilization “dots” that surrounded his holo-imager’s anchor were less dull, the spider web on his cheek gleaming against the rivets in his skin… 

And the extra blush on Hugh's cheeks must have been left over from an earlier memory in _Solstice's_ hallway. 

> _"Swing by my quarters 20 minutes before it starts?"_
> 
> _The Director grinned cheekily. "I'll be elated to walk you to your promotion."_
> 
> _"Thank you; you know_ _I_ have _to have someone help me put on my pips."_
> 
> _"Oh, because it is so_ difficult _, I must assume; Starfleet officers and all their fancy little adornments, badges, and finery..."_
> 
> _"Well..." Geordi hummed with a bite of his lip and playful flick of a finger against Hugh's harness, "we're not_ all _Reclamation Project staffers with its fancy little vests."_
> 
> _A rapidly approaching voice paired with heavy steps broke the atmosphere. "Geordi?" called Riker, "you still in here? I forgot to mentio--"_
> 
> _And Captain William Riker walked into two men who looked like they got caught in a blindingly bright, blindingly gay tractor beam._
> 
> _Riker stopped.  
>  His eyes went left, right- a grin began to spread, his head tilted, and his brow furrowed alongside that rapidly growing smile..._
> 
> _God fucking damn it, Will, there was that- stupid little face he did--_
> 
> _His head tilted inward. "Gentlemen?"_
> 
> _Geordi's expression sputtered before his hand finally had the sense to withdraw back to his side, Hugh fastening his hands behind his back and trying to play it cool._
> 
> _"Right, I will-- see you Capta-- Commander, Commander," Hugh chuckled sheepishly as he cleared his throat, and oh, his face was so red already... "C-captain Riker, I'll be- taking my leave."_
> 
> _"Riiight," Riker followed in a vague, squinting nod as the xB skittered past him down the doorframe. "See ya, Hugh."  
> _
> 
> _Geordi was extremely thankful that the hand that Riker was holding the support with didn't come down to... he didn't know, slap Hugh on the back or something as the xB passed, the Commander pointing ferociously at Will not to move a_ muscle. _Riker_ did, _however, look back to where Hugh was trotting off, then back to Geordi, Hugh... and Geordi sighed as Will looked back to him with practical stars in his eyes, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder with eyebrows that were nearly off his goddamn forehead._
> 
> _"Was_ this _why Deanna was all cagey with me after she talked to Crusher?"_
> 
> _"Come on Willlll," Geordi huffed, running a hand down his face. "I was gonna tell you and Worf before the Gala, but--"_
> 
> _"But_ not _before the promotion we all came out here special for?" he pressed further. "Come on, La Forge- how long've you two been a thing? Throw me a bone here- last time I saw him he looked like the inside of a Klingon Jeffries Tube and was chewing Worf and I out in a damn tunnel; now I see he's gay,_ and _dating one of my best friends? What's romancing a former drone like, what--"_
> 
> _"It's--!"_
> 
> _Geordi stopped before he went off, dragging his hands down his face as he seemingly tried to wipe away his_ own _blush._
> 
> _Riker stopped, readjusting his jaw as he looked downward. "Too many questions, huh."_
> 
> _"Just a bit."  
> _ _"Sorry."  
> _ _"S'alright."  
> _ _"Just excited."  
> _ _"Mmhm."_
> 
> _Geordi regained his mental footing before starting over._
> 
> _"He... god, Will, we just--_ clicked _as soon as this whole thing started. I can't explain it. I mean I--_ can _, actually, I'm head over fucking heels for the guy and I'm 99% sure he is too, but... no. No, I'm-- sure of it," Geordi laughed faintly, "It's just... I mean it's- been about two months? Which-- god, when I say it out loud, that- feels so fast? Sudden? But Will, I promise, I didn't mean to keep it from you or Worf, I've just been trying to sort my_ own _feelings, and_ \-- _god forbid Clancy or some other foot-up-their-ass-Admiral comes kicking the door down and tells us we're 'violating personal relations protocol' or something despite half of_ Starfleet _having fucked each other, god forbid_ I _screw something up on my end with co-managing this project because we still have work to do, and..."_
> 
> _The Commander sighed. "'What he's like'... we'd be here for hours if I got started on that. I can't, I_ couldn't _say enough. And I'll admit, I've been... lonely, y'know? Y-you have Deanna and Kestra, Worf_ had _Jadzia and thank god he still has Alexander, O'Brien's got Keiko, Molly, Kirayoshi, and I... I kinda missed that. Or I-- had it once, and haven't. --Remembered what it was_ like _to have it in a while_. _But I couldn't-- I_ can't _just keep living missing Data if someone's actually willing to let me in like Hugh is. ...And if I like him a lot in return._ _So with Hugh it's-- knowing_ where _he was once,_ what _he was once, and knowing the man he's_ become _and how_ well _we get along_ _, he's..."_
> 
> _He fell quiet again, and Riker watched him with a careful, loving glint in his crow's feet-creased eyes._
> 
> _"Are you happy?"_
> 
> _Geordi rolled his tongue against his cheek... and began to nod, managing a swallow as he looked up to his tall, dearly-beloved shithead of a friend with bleary eyes._
> 
> _"I am, man," he managed. "And it's been... a long-ass time since I've felt that kind of happy."_
> 
> _Riker firmed his lips. "I could tell today. And I know_ you _were the one married to him, but_... _I think Data would be proud_ _of you._ _Happy, too."_
> 
> _"...Hm. Y'know, I- wonder every now and then myself, Will," Geordi admitted in another quiet laugh. "...'s nice to hear that from someone else."_
> 
> _"I call it like it is, Geordi. And if it's an xB we have a special history with who's giving a friend of mine a good time and making him happy... then_ I'm _happy for you. And I know Worf will be, too."  
> _ _"If he starts pestering me about poetry, I swear--"  
> _ _"Give it a day after you tell him; I'll sure he'll have a very to-the-point letter typed up and everything for you."_
> 
> _Geordi couldn't help but chuckle. "He would, huh... who knows- maybe_ he'll _be the one finding someone again in the next couple years or so."_
> 
> _"Maybe. But I know he still keeps Jadzia's close."  
> _ _"Wouldn't expect anything different of him."_
> 
> _After a beat, Will spoke up again: "Are you gonna--"  
> _
> 
> _"I'll let Hugh know everything's good before the ceremony," Geordi assured, "and I'll come clean to Deanna and tell Worf, too. Just... go easy on him, alright? No billions of questions right off the bat or anything-"_
> 
> _"Sure, sure; I've got my own things I wanna talk to him about."  
> _ _"Not a_ word _of this to other Starfleet folks, either," Geordi pointed with a smirk, "not until after the project is wrapped up- got it?"_
> 
> _Riker laughed. "Oh, fuck no."_

Geordi found himself lost again.   
And the weight on his chest wasn’t just from Hugh’s hands resting against Geordi to continue pinning his three Commander's pips.

He took in a breath.

But before he could speak, the xB began to smirk. “You’re watching me.” 

It bought Geordi some preparatory time. “Well, you look beautiful tonight; how could I _not?_ ”

Hugh’s smirk wriggled into a bashful, blush-stained grin. 

Geordi continued right along. “Am I that obvious?” 

“No,” the Director hummed, “but I have observed your habits enough times to tell that you are… _slightly_ nervous.” 

This conversation felt familiar to when a certain _C_ _aptain Crusher_ came to visit. 

“What gave me away, Director?” 

“Well, to start… your body temperature is .6 degrees hotter than normal,” Hugh began to rattle off, “your heart rate is 5.96% above your typical pace, the cybernetic parts of your ocular neural pathways are active with a higher transference rate…” 

“Oh, come on now,” Geordi chuckled, “how can you tell _that_ one if you haven’t even looked me in the eyes yet?”

Hugh’s smirk remained steady, but the xB’s eyes suddenly shifted from watching his hands to meet Geordi’s gaze, squinted some…

The Commander restrained a swallow as he heard a faint flutter of a voice. 

> **`[beautiful]` **

“That was a hypothesis, admittedly,” Hugh continued without missing a beat. “Glad to see my guess was _correct_ , however.”

It was strange, yet gentle. Factual, yet intimate.   
And he so, so wanted to hear it again.

“You’re correct, Director,” Geordi allowed him. “Finally getting Captain’s pips would rattle anyone, I think. ...Thank you for being here beforehand.”

“Thank you for _having_ me.” 

Amidst a smile, Geordi allowed himself the swallow he’d restrained earlier. 

“But that’s... not the _only_ reason I’m nervous.” 

> _Help me out, Data._

“I... need to talk to you about something I’ve noticed happening to me, Hugh,” Geordi began. “Something before we go in there together, alright?”

Hugh’s brow creased upwards as his hands rested against the Commander’s chest, the xB’s augmented palms ceasing their fiddling with Geordi’s combadge. “Of course,” he said softly, “whatever you need.” 

“I’ve started--” 

> _God, where could he even start with this._
> 
> **`[At their beginning]` **
> 
> _There._

And with a hard blink to regain his focus, Geordi began. 

“Hugh, have you… noticed anything different about me?” he asked, “or just anything with _you?_ Like a… a _smoothness,_ a _fluidity_ with you and I that’s just a touch... I dunno- easy? Have you seen me… acting a bit faster, or--” 

“Adaptability and synchronization to others is a known phenomena of coexistence within Liberated Borg,” Hugh tried to offer, “but do you feel this… _extends_ beyond that?”

The Commander sighed, a hand going to rub at his temple. “See, this part of why it's taken me so long; it’s _completely normal_ to you, but in _my mind_ I feel like my thoughts have been--” 

Hugh’s eyes widened, his head beginning to tilt inward as if urging Geordi to continue. “Geordi- you must tell me,” he said quite seriously, “if you feel you’re having thoughts that are… intrusive. Suppressive. ‘Leeching’ in any way, even; because if so that implies there could be inadvertent frequencies I’m broadcasting. M-maybe… nanoprobe reproduction, i-if these streams of consciousness and sensations are--” 

“That’s the _thing,_ Hugh,” Geordi told him back, “I don’t… _think_ they’re bad? And I don’t _feel_ bad? If anything, I… I like it. It’s just a little _different_ for me, that’s all- it's been coming and going with what I feel for you, and I was… wondering if you’d been noticing. I just don’t know what it _is-_ if it _is_ something affecting me, or if it’s--” 

Geordi swallowed again, feeling the lump swell larger in his throat.  
“Or if it’s just something _else_ I’ve been needing to tell you... and I’ve been a little hesitant on doing, hun.” 

Hugh’s seriousness began to waver as he listened to Geordi, his metallic brow causing his organic one to crease harder in worry. “I-it’s… not a-- widely observed instance yet,” Hugh admitted, “for xBs to have partners with those who are _not_ , so perhaps it’s--”

“Hugh, wait--” 

“Am I-- _influencing_ you?” Hugh asked in slowly rising panic. “Superseding you? Overriding, even, is our relationship just--? N-no, I-- I cannot take what is _yours,_ I can't collect--"

“Just-- calm down, _explain_ to me what you can so thi--”

“I _can’t,_ Geordi!” 

* * *

Mashing a hand through his hair and trying to step away from that embarrassing sob of a laugh, Hugh’s voice was suddenly hoarse and his vision was looking every which way and where, feet trying to find their balance as Hugh’s head filled with choked starts and even more choked words. 

So the xB tried to start over, licking his lips and trying to regain his mental footing.

“When you are once Borg, you _know_ things,” he began, “there’s a certain… knowledge of _everything_ ingrained _into_ you, because you _become_ that knowledge. That assimilation. And in return, there’s nothing left _of_ you, there _is_ no ‘you-!’” Hugh pleaded, “your very _mission_ becomes overtaking things that are not you, because there’s not supposed to _be_ anything _else_ outside of you, outside of the _Collective_ _!_ So you know what? On a factual level, I _can_ explain it. I can! I know _exactly_ what this is, and I--”

> _[Not ‘hate it’]_

He felt his words choke again, trying to straighten his head and shoulders.

“I... I _had,_ once, a library of _countless_ civilizations’ courtship relations, Geordi. Physical manifestations of obvious attractions to genders within a species, practices, etiquette- _everything_ that hivemind stole from other peoples’ understanding of adoration, infatuation, types of relationships to one another- it was all put into me, _everything! Knowing_ it, knowing _all that,_ ” Hugh pressed, his fingers clenching where his voice no longer could and frantically tapping at the implant at his temple, “ _knowing_ it is one thing, Geordi. _Taking_ raw information by means of assimilation is its own matter. But… to experience it? _Applying_ that knowledge into a tangible observance that you _yourself_ can experience? E-everything,” Hugh hated how his voice faltered, “you’ve made me feel, everything I’ve done, my... my wonderings, my conclusions based on our interactions and from what I _know_ because of what I used to be _-_ but _experiencing_ it? A sensation that I can _keep,_ and not have to… _relinquish_ to anyone, or- any _thing_ _?_ That… that what I have with you is mine? And nothing-- no Collective, no submatrix, no _Queen,”_ Hugh said through grit teeth, “can ever take that away from me, is _going_ to take away the context I now _have_ for that knowledge of relationships and _courtship_ and _**infatuation**_ , but it- leaves me instead to bear this _weight?_ Geordi, this, it’s... a-and knowing my very _nature_ may have impacted you to feel this way? I-- I can’t…”

Hugh’s hand ran down over his mouth, his throat, feeling a hardness that was there threaten to leap out of him as his chest ached and heaved for breath...

“T-there is no, _greater_ burden,” he choked, “than knowing the _bare definition_ of something… and then having _all its immensity,_ all its _depth,_ its _implications--_ s-strewn out before you when you finally have it. And then you feel _too stunned,_ too _ignorant--_ to even be able to call it by _name.”_

The xB suddenly felt quite stunned and embarrassed at his ramble, eyes burning as he broke Geordi’s distraught looking gaze. How could he ever look this man in the eyes again after a pathetic display like that- sounding so meek and frail and _confused_ as he did all those years ago on the _Enterprise?_ How could they ever finish their work here now, how could he ever be trusted as a competent Director, a stable _partner, boyfr--_ oh, he couldn’t even _think_ it--

The shame was becoming too unbearable and, before Hugh fully turned to leave with a strained “I need to go,” a force on his arm grabbed and held him in place, the hand firm but lovingly gentle in its desperate grasp.

“Hugh,” Geordi’s voice broke. 

A pause hung between them. 

“I need you… to tell me what I’m thinking, Hugh,” the Commander said. “Right now.”

The Director’s face crumpled. “Wha--” 

“Tell me.”

Hugh did not break Geordi’s stare, how could he--

> _[There was clarity]_  
>  _[Clarity that had two voices speaking as one]_
> 
> **`[Would you share that with me]` **

And without saying a word, Hugh’s face repeated everything by how much it crumpled and broke under the weight of his, _their,_ own clarity.

He found himself at a stunned loss for words.

“It’s okay,” the soon-to-be-Captain started, “it’s alright. I’m alright with it, just... don't--”

As if encouraging him to continue, Hugh did not resist Geordi’s grasp. He required this grounding. If anything, he let Geordi pull him back, Hugh welcoming it further when Geordi’s hand slowly slid from Hugh’s bicep, up to his shoulder, as if to make sure he wouldn’t leave--

“It sounds so simple, Hugh, but… share it with me,” Geordi asked. “I want to be _with_ you, as you and I experience this. People in the Federation, they-- praise Vulcan _mindmelds_ , Betazoid _telepathy_ \- why does _this_ have to be any different?” Geordi tried to reason with a disbelieving laugh. “And if this is... _new_ to you, if you're _okay_ with it, I wanna watch every moment you realize something new about it. About _us,_ baby. About life. About _yourself_ . You have _such_ a way of being so-- _captivated_ by things,” Geordi gloated, “you love the world and every good thing in it. That’s so beautiful about you, that’s _spellbinding_ and lovely to _see,_ and-- ...I can only imagine how hard it must be. Because it’s work to _be_ a person, and it’s harder work to be a _good_ person. Naming sensations you really wanna be sure of, understanding what it all is and if you’re getting it right..."

Geordi paused for a hard sniff. "I’ll tell you right now, Hugh, I-- watched someone I once loved do that every day of his life,” Geordi confessed with a shaky voice, “and _you_ reminded me how much I loved watching people learn about life. Learn about themselves. I don’t… I don’t expect you to know everything about _you,_ because I’m still learning things too, y’know. About you, myself-- every day. And people need others in life to teach them things too, right? I had a very beautiful, very _wonderful_ man,” Geordi alluded, pausing to rub his wet cheeks, “teach me all sorts of things as he learned about himself _,_ and-- Hugh, I miss Data a whole lot. I will forever. But I got to watch him _become_ that man that I miss now, and-- if we can learn this much about ourselves, about _each other_ in _just three months_ , Hugh, I--... I haven't been this happy in a long time. And you've made me that. I'm so sorry if I rattled you just now, but I need you to know how much you've made me happy. And Hugh, just-- I can imagine myself happy with you for however much time we’ve got together _after_ that.”

And because of what Geordi had said, of everything he’d just told him, Hugh suddenly couldn’t take it anymore, and the words all came tumbling out. 

“I have not said it because we know how deep this declaration’s implications run,” Hugh said quickly, “but based upon my observations, Geordi, I love you, and I have for quite some time now.” 

The moment of confession hung in the air with all the weight of the vastness Hugh had wrestled with for three months, arguably 23 years.  
And the Commander’s jaw shook as he held the xB’s shoulders, squeezing them once, twice, looking down and trying to straighten his head.

“I-it’s just that easy, huh,” Geordi shuddered, “like that? To just say it, and I… God, it-- took me even longer with Data, y’know?” 

Hugh paused, anxiety trying to extinguish the nerves that told him he may have failed this entire confession, “Geordi what’re you--” 

“I love you too, Hugh,” Geordi broke, letting out a sigh it sounded like he’d been holding, “and I'm sorry, it’s- taken me so long to say it.” 

The xB stood there stunned, pathetically trying to absorb this information.  
Categorize it.   
Archive it.   
But Hugh realized he was _not_ at a loss for words, no; for the the Executive Director saw that there was simply no other words _needed_ by which to describe this moment, and that was the most stunning truth of all. 

So as his jaw shuddered and his visual UI clouded in tears, Hugh simply repeated what he’d heard Geordi said. “Y-you… love me? The--? Me. Me, I--! Aha, I know what this action means, Geordi,” he managed, “ _I_ know what this phrase means, that knowledge _was_ me; it was _all_ that I was once, a-and I--?"

“Do you need to hear it again?” Geordi said with a smile and shake of his head, and the rational part, the _analytical_ part of Hugh’s mind told him Geordi was trying to comfort him, but his thoughts were so _loud,_ so _overwhelmed_ and so _overcome_ \-- “because I can tell you it as many times as you need to.”

“P-please--” Hugh begged, “so that I can-- try to _process, finalize_ this--” 

“You said it first, but I'll say it as many times as I need,” Geordi reminded, his hands sliding from Hugh’s shoulders to his neck, his cheeks, “I love you, Hugh-” 

And Hugh managed a choked “I love you Geordi” as the soon-to-be-Captain met him for a deep, desperate kiss.

Hugh did not go looking for words this time.   
Instead, the Director allowed them to _come_ to him.

And in the .62 seconds that their kiss lasted, Hugh, at least, heard a few.

> **`[ I'm here and so are you ]` **

When Hugh came back to his own clarity and realized he could look for words again, the xB found himself sobbing into the crook of Geordi’s shoulder as the soon-to-be-Captain also wept.

“Is that it?” Hugh asked, his voice muffled by Geordi’s uniform. “I-is that truly all I need to--?” 

“That’s all, baby,” Geordi assured. “And… and you, do _I_ need to--”

No,” Hugh told him with a shudder and sniff. "One-- one moment, let me--"

Hugh forced himself to take a very, very deep breath, trying to stabilize himself as Geordi took the cue to hold his hands and anchor his mind with a tether.

You’ve been… doing your reading, very thoroughly; I believe you would know, and... something tells me you know what comes next. Y-you-- already knew how significant this was for someone like me, so… yes, Geordi. I’m--” he took a deep, grounding breath, “I am glad you-- told me, before your promotion. Thank you.” 

Geordi squeezed his hands before pulling back with a bleary-eyed grin. “Call it even for you being the one to actually _say_ it first.”

“You gave me your _VISOR_ first,” Hugh admitted in a teary laugh. “Would that count as ‘being even?’”

“Alright- if we keep _this_ up _,”_ the Commander teased with a wagging point, “we’re gonna be at it for the rest of our lives.” 

“I _do_ want you to get a checkup though,” Hugh asked him, “one done by Troval; I’d like them to run an analysis to see if you have any _possibly_ xB-influenced phenomena... perhaps if it’s some sort of subspace signaling, perhaps intercepting signals to your _own_ cybernetics work, or--”

Geordi's brow and smirk wriggled. “You think she’ll tell us to stop swallowing?”

> _[‘Swallowing’]_   
> _[Figure of speech related]  
> _ _[A physical act either referring to the act of consu--]_

A flash of a very arousing, very _sensual_ scenario suddenly flit across the Director’s thoughts.

Hugh’s eyes widened and he looked away with a reddening face, Geordi laughing as the Director's hand loosened its grip on Geordi's and went to cover his own mouth. “Oh, that-- that _could_ be related, actually--” 

Geordi tsk’ed with a shake of his head. “I’m gonna laugh if it is; I hope you know that.” 

23 years had been kind to his sense of humor, thankfully, and Hugh swirled a very… silly, very ‘stupid’ joke in his mouth and held it back with squirming lips. 

“What.”  
“I'm considering whether to say a joke or not.”   
“Whaaat; you can’t say that and not _tell_ me now!”  
“You’re certain? I don’t know, it might be too poor to even _say_ -”   
Geordi began to giggle and pointed at him: “I know what you’re doing, you little--”

And Hugh finally spat it out with a chuckle: “Oh, what! I’m just _considering_ the effectiveness of my ‘alternative methods of assimilation,’ nothing _too_ much to think about~”

To Hugh’s delight, Geordi understood _immediately_ with an exclamation of… humor? Disgust? A combination of both? Whatever it was, it was contagious, Geordi mashing an open palm against his forehead and doubling over laughing to near tears as Hugh did the same. 

By the time Hugh and Geordi had collected themselves again, puffy-eyed and their uniforms ruffled, the two realized they _definitely_ had to re-fluff each other before going to a promotion ceremony. 

“You… you _promise_ me,” Hugh pleaded, “that you feel your sentiments towards me have _nothing_ to do with this phenomena? You feel with _certainty_ that what you’re experiencing is… _separate_ from what you’ve-?”

“I’d love you with or without it, Hugh,” Geordi told him with a shake of his head and a wide smile. “Been really thinkin' about this for a couple weeks now. It's fast compared to what most folks think confessions like this to take, but ... think I've loved you in my own way since the day you told me I was ‘someone who made you feel better.’ That love's, just- gotten a whole lot louder, a lot more personal, and I've been a lot more _happy_.” 

> _["Like Geordi... and Hugh"]_

Hugh felt his face flare at Geordi's reference, his eyes sting yet _again,_ his throat began to tighten and his chest started to ache… and he met Geordi for one more hug, the man wrapping his arms around him and the Director holding the back of Geordi's shoulders for dear life.

“You knew me when I was such a _fool_ ,” Hugh wept again, “and yet you stand here and tell me you love me…” 

“Makes me love who you are today all the more,” Geordi told him in their steadfast embrace. “You’ve grown into a beautiful man, Hugh- but that kindness, that _gentleness…_ it’s still just as sweet as it was all those years ago.” 

“It-- helped that I had a good teacher,” Hugh managed. “And that the Captain-in-question is _willing_ to let me into his _own_ beautiful, weathered heart... and make _me_ very happy, too.”

The two had pulled back some, both men’s eyes bleary and creased; their outfits were still crinkled, and in no shape to be at a promotion ceremony in 10.03 minutes time. 

But their eyes were on hardly anything else except each other. 

And for all Hugh in his incredible capacity for recorded memory, he later could not remember who it was that laughed first, nor if it was Geordi’s arms that slunk around Hugh’s waist or Hugh’s hands cusped Geordi’s face after; but they laughed quietly, _tearfully_ at their shared confession, and found each other in another deep, savory kiss in the light of _Solstice’s_ sun.

* * *

**STATION ~~COMMANDER'S~~ CAPTAIN'S READY ROOM**

"When I was still a commanding officer aboard the _USS Al-Batani,"_ Janeway began, her head high above the small, well-dressed crowd stuffed in Geordi's Ready Room, "I was so close to tasting Captaincy, I began reading through all _sorts_ of reports that commended two things: ingenuity in engineering and command-related circumstances, and compassion-driven diplomacy that would prepare me for whatever post I was given. Two stories, I can recall," she continued, "were _particularly_ poignant with me, as I was left amazed that an officer could have the heart to not exact such levels of mercy once, but _twice_. The first... while stranded on a planet ravaged by an ion storm in 2366, Mr. La Forge convinced a young Romulan Star Empire Centurion to work with him to not only reach shelter- but to save their lives by utilizing their unique senses available to them, challenge the immediate hostilities between our two peoples by sparing the other's life, _and_ avoid a potentially-bloody conflict between the Star Empire and the Federation."

The party: all three Junctions (and one Relay), an AI, an EMH, two Directors, five veterans of the _Enterprise-D,_ three from _Voyager_ (not including the Admiral), and a _Solstice_ CMO stood in attendance as Geordi La Forge, badge-less and needing an extra pip, stood and playfully rolled his eyes.

"Still found mud caked on me for _weeks_ after that, y'know," Geordi sighed in loving mockery, Hugh feeling his cheeks hurt from a further-spreading smile.

She continued with a smirk. "The _second_ report... well. The other party in that 2368 story stands in this very _room_ with us," Janeway pointed out as Hugh suddenly flushed with Crosis' hand on his shoulder, "so I feel as if I hardly need to elaborate on its significance. Such an _important_ significance, even, that none of us would currently _be_ here without the soon-to-be Captain's compassion, kindness, technical prowess..."

 _"And_ a good doctor, _and_ a good Counselor, _aaand_ a very patient Security Officer with a just-as-patient-if-not-moreso First Officer," Geordi teased. 

And as those specific four chuckled with the rest of the gathering's humor, a faint brush of consciousness reached out, almost as if a hand had run across bare skin, fluttered in Hugh's mind as Geordi caught his glance, as quick as a breeze yet potent as a fresh fragrance.

> **`[a nd y o u]` **

Janeway grinned again at his robustness. _"Whoever_ is to wholly thank, then... I remember these two reports staying with me during my final meditations when studying for a Captaincy. The latter event, of course, I wouldn't recognize its subject's significance for another handful of years based on what happened to dear _Voyager_ ," she humored the crowd, "but life has a way of offering us surprises, doesn't it?"

Finally, she turned to him, reaching for his collar and pinning a fourth pip on his uniform.

"I feel honored, then, to be able to bestow the title of 'Captaincy' on this remarkable man. For his bravery, sincerity, dedication, kindness, and willingness to extend a hand to those whom Starfleet can forget to attempt empathy and understanding with. ...But I won't introduce him yet," the Admiral crooned as began to finish her fiddling. "Not yet."

Before Hugh could see Geordi cock an eyebrow, she turned. "I get to put on the _pips,_ sure; while I _would_ ask one of your former crewmates to do this next part, Mr. La Forge," Janeway humored, "there are _four of them_ and only _one of you,_ and I could _hardly_ imagine making you all choose between each other on the spot, am I correct?"

The gathering all chuckled or smirked in various levels of humor, Crusher merely turning to point at all three of her friends and Riker making a fast handed motion over his throat with a mouthed "No."

Janeway took this as confirmation. "I can think of someone even _more_ fitting to give the Captain his new badge, Sir. How about... the very person, who then resulted in the very _people_ this Starfleet station exists to 'Cooperate' with in the first place."

She turned towards Hugh. 

"Director Hugh," Janeway crooned, holding a black, oval-shaped box towards the xB with a grin on her face. "Would you do us the honors, please." 

His mismatched eyes darted between all her, the box, the crowd, _Geordi--_

> _[Where was it]  
>  [That Clarity, once again]_
> 
> **`[ h e r e ]` **

The Director swallowed in relief and nodded in confirmation.

"Thank you, Admiral. I would be honored."

And Hugh found some words he was actually able to speak as he gingerly took the box from Janeway, standing before Geordi with a meek smile and his chest full of an unnamable weight.

"It seems only fair, does it not," the xB began to muse, "that in exchange for a name _you_ helped give me some 23 years ago, I return the favor with an extra addition onto _your_ name. Not only ' _fair_ ,' but... poetically, comfortingly, even _strikingly_ beautiful- in how a life wonderfully and humbly lived adds onto the context of a person. May this new title, then, accurately describe your character-" 

Hugh's hands took time to admire the new badge. 

"Your legacy..."

He affixed it to his uniform.

"And your _love_."

Hugh took in a swallow, thanking his clarity for keeping it together.

"--To not only Starfleet, the Federation... but to all the people they touch; by proxy, the people _you_ touch."

And Hugh stepped back a pace, his face wide and beaming in admiration and love, yes, clarity help him, _love--_ as he watched Geordi practically glow in place.

"It is my great honor, _along_ with Admiral Janeway... to present: _Captain_ Geordi La Forge." 

And all in attendance clapped with celebration, joy, ' _pride_ ,' Geordi managing an "Awh, come on guys" as Captain Riker in particular managed a proud, most-likely embarrassing sound Hugh could only describe as "whooping" before Captain Worf elbowed him in the side.

And while they could not act upon such imaginations now, Hugh wondered who it was that thought of them kissing the other first.

This was not the main celebration tonight; this was a formality in order to avoid a conflicting ceremony tomorrow, and practically the whole gathering decided against too much revelry in drink and socializing. The most anyone had were two flutes of champagne (which were already at the light 4% to avoid sensitive xBs' synthehol tolerance), mostly happy to listen in on plans regarding tomorrow onboard the Juggernaut rather than any intimate levels of catch-up or learning more about the other. Discussions of the decorations, previews of the arriving guests ranging from an xB _Trill_ to the musical entertainment itself-- even the _menu_ that was being prepared was allowed to be seen a sneak peek for the residing officers, the Junctions (and Hugh himself) happy to learn any recent Federation gossip to help them in their possible talks tomorrow. While a part of Hugh's mind was constantly in bewilderment of pride and adoration for Geordi at what they had done before and now, the most in terms of deeper emotional exchanges came from the _Titan's_ Captain Riker, who meandered over to Hugh as he departed the group to return his empty glass inside the replicator.

> _"Hey, Hugh," Riker had said, the xB's head darting behind his shoulder. And before Hugh could say anything regarding what the Captain may have seen in the Transporter Room, he was struck by the other man's gentleness and thoughtfulness, his gaze drawn upwards as Riker stood, somehow humbly, over him._
> 
> _"Take care of him, alright," the Captain asked. "He's happy. Geordi deserves that... and you do too," he made sure to add, "All of you. But, just--"_
> 
> _Will shrugged, stealing a glance of the Captain chatting with Deanna and rolling his jaw._
> 
> _"He deserves someone good in his life after what he's been through."_
> 
> _[Data]_
> 
> _Hugh nodded and took in a sharp breath. "Thank you for your inadvertent blessing of my presence in his life, Captain. For I can tell, that..._ you _all mean more to him than_ any _words my innate knowledge has in its storehouses of language."_

By the time Hugh and Crosis had made it back to the xB Wing of _Solstice after the party was declared "over" (to chimes of "We're Doctors, not hangover managers" from Troval, EMH, and Bartholomew),_ the poor Director was about to lose all composure he'd desperately tried to grasp, his heart still racing from a wink and a kiss to the air as Geordi went the opposite way (and after the predecessing kiss they'd snuck when behind a wall, Geordi whispering a 'thank you, I love you' into his lips).

"Ha- well, Director!" Crosis yawned as the door to Hugh's quarters slid shut, "that went fine enough with Starfleet, Captain La Forge seemed pleased enough... hmm, now I can call him Captain _properly!_ And Hugh- you did a wonderful job presenting him, my friend; surely your speech tomorrow will be just as..."

As he stood in the middle of the room, Hugh's jaw was wobbling and his eyes began to well with tears, the heel of his palm mashing at the underside of his holo-imager's remnants.

Crosis paused from behind him. "Hugh?" 

It all began to settle in weight, implication, and the vastness of wanting to be known in that matter so unique to xBs.

So the Director tried again, but Crosis was too quick. "Hugh," his friend asked, "Hugh, what's wrong, are you--?"

"H-he..." Hugh sniffed, unable to turn back and face his friend. "Before his promotion, Crosis- Geordi, he-- told me he _loved_ me, I--" 

The news struck his friend silent.

"He did?" Crosis uttered. "He... Hugh, that's-- you, and the Captain-- he truly told you this?" 

Yes, Hugh thought with an overwhelming sense of smallness.

> **`[ he loves me ]` **

That voice should have been so obvious, in retrospect. So clear in its origin.

But he could hardly think right now in terms of retrospect, obvious clues, clear points of synchronization and adaption with the man he loved _too_ , and--  
His chest pained him. A beautiful, excruciating pain Hugh could barely imagine his younger self even _beginning_ to understand.

Hugh could only respond to Crosis with a nod, another sniff, and a fist to his mouth as his eyes wrenched themselves shut.

Crosis must have seen him continue to shake and shudder even from the back, Hugh realizing he was crumpling into his overwhelmed heart and headspace not only mentally, but physically; for Hugh heard his friend's heavy footsteps tread closer towards him, and an augmented hand suddenly rested on his shoulder to bring him closer.

"Come here," the Director Second mumbled, "come here--" 

Suddenly, urgently, Hugh found himself swept into a tight, loving embrace against Crosis' chest. His eyes, already weary from his earlier weeping with Geordi, began to ache and sting further as Hugh devolved into full, chest-shaking sobs, his arms wrapping around and holding onto Crosis for dear life as he buried his face against his strong, warm, _familiar_ friend. This too was a man he loved, a man he knew since he was but a newfound soul in the clarity of individuality- and Hugh could hardly manage anything else but lose himself in the assuring company of someone he trusted with his life, history, and wholly-exchanged love in its own way.

"He knew me w-when I was-- when I could-- hardly _speak,_ Crosis, I-- how--" 

"Why do you devalue yourself, Hugh?" Crosis murmured in a quiet voice, his strong hand burying itself to hold the back of Hugh's head as he gave his scalp a kiss. "Please. You, out of _everyone_ else, taught me to... accept happiness. Accept _myself_ , even after what I did, and I--" 

Hugh heard Crosis take a sharp breath in. 

"You gave us clarity. Allow him to give you _love_ , Hugh, if he is willing to know you in such a way. Alright? Will you... do that for me?" 

Hugh wanted to say he loved Crosis, too. For everything he had done, everything he had been to him, and everything they had been through together.

But all Hugh had the strength and capacity to do was grit his teeth and smush his face harder against the Director Second's chest, shuddering out a shaky "Crosis" as he took refuge in the presence of the man's strong arms, soft stomach, and familiar scent of his breath as Hugh continued to weep in all elation, euphoria, and stunned smallness at the idea of being so wholly known by someone outside the Collective.

There was a Midway Gala to attend tomorrow. A Gala they had prepared for days and weeks in all furnishings, attendees, and mental fortification.

And tomorrow, Hugh, _with_ Geordi, could celebrate and revel in that individuality-powered love, communion, and celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a kistharoo from geordi to hugh :)


	19. cordially invited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come one, come all: to the first Federation-Cooperation joint celebration, happening this November 27th, 2391. 
> 
> We're ending Part II with revelry, reunions, and merriment all around. How many friends, new AND old, can you find at the edge of individuality's Reclamation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS !!! we've been talkin' about this stupid party for like 17 chapters and it's finally time !!! || ENJOY YOUR INVITATIONS YES I REALLY DID DESIGN THOSE MYSELF || IT'S C-C-C-CAMEO TIIIIME || gonna take a bit of a break after this chapter to be workin' on a Special Website related to xBs AND the beginning of part 3 so keep watch here !!! || thank you eli and rob for letting me use your xB characters for my snippets they were so much fun!!! rob's pharagodia crew can be found here: https://twitter.com/mycorob/status/1316471245475590147?s=20 || i did an interview partially to do with this fic for the wonderful "Out of Orbit" podcast! give it a gander here if you want a peep into the inspiration behind the worldbuilding for xBs and what i hope to accomplish with the reclamation project itself https://outoforbitpodcast.wixsite.com/outoforbit/post/artinorbit-spotlight-hye-raijuthehyeju--explodinghye || IT'S A DOUBLE UPDATE SO MAKE SURE YOU HIT CH. 20 IF YOU WANT ANOTHER SPICE ZONE!!!! || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 27, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS**

Geordi La Forge awoke to a bedside alarm at 0600 hours.

One groggy-eyed look outside to the gleaming, pre-sunrise light from the moon's surface told him it was a beautiful November day for a Gala.  
As beautiful as days _could_ be in the vacuum of space, at least. 

But as Geordi turned off his alarm and ran a hand over his face, the memories of last night came wafting back.

He'd told Hugh he loved him.  
He was a Captain now.  
He’d gone to bed alone, but walked to his quarters by a loving Beverly and a stoutly-supportive Worf.

And he was beginning to remember the rather long, sentimental, extremely _mushy_ text he’d sent to the Executive Director before passing out.

With a retrieval of his PADD from the nightstand and expanding a reply notification, any awkwardness Geordi may have felt was quickly replaced by sleepy adoration, the Captain able to hear Hugh's voice as clear as ever.

 **RECLAMATION PROJECT PERSONNEL:** **EXEC. DIR. HUGH**

> **> I only regret I cannot reply as verbosely as you wrote me, Geordi; for there are too many words by which to describe how I feel in this moment, and I have so little time before I must regenerate.  
> > I love you. Thank you. Congratulations again on your promotion. I will see you tomorrow when we are able.  
> > ☺**

Only 0603 hours, and Geordi's cheeks already ached from smiling back at that little face.

As Geordi got ready by scrolling through the day’s itinerary with his first cup of coffee, as Starfleet and Reclamation Project staffers awoke and arose to begin setting up for the Midway Gala... the Captain wondered if he’d even need that second cup right now, considering how much Hugh’s words had energized him.

Geordi started and finished a message back as the sun spilled over the moon’s horizon.   
He ended it with a smiley face, too.

11 hours till showtime.

As the “technical darlings” of the event, both the Cybernetics and Engineering Divisions of the Reclamation Project were crackling with technicians and scientists finalizing their holographic demo displays for arriving gala-goers. While Geordi would pass down _Solstice’s_ halls to review whatever new transmission, report, or review came in, the Captain could spy a Relay or Junior Lieutenant giving mock presentations to a mix of Starfleet uniforms and Reclamation Project vests, the whole group nodding and indenting notes into their own presentations from collective feedback. Geordi knew practically each theory by heart, at this point- he’d reviewed and approved all 17 Cybernetics and Engineering demos for the various delegates, and he knew how hard these folks worked on their material to make a good impression. But it was always uplifting seeing those Starfleet blues, yellows, and reds collaborate with those intricate black harnesses, Geordi once hollering to a dumbfounded staffer’s open door “You got two hours left; make sure you’re changed, Ensign!” with a snap and a wink. The Captain laughed as he heard a distant _“YESSIR!”_ echo in reply, trotting off to meet some Vulcan ambassadors not two decks down.

Was it satisfying to Geordi that he was already known as a "cool" Captain a mere _day_ after his promotion? 

Hell yes it was.   
Maybe he could even give _Will_ a run for his money.

In the Medical Division’s corner, _Theta_ and _Iota’s_ wards were quiet since major Reclamation Procedures were postponed until after the Gala, when work upon reawakened xBs would resume. In the three months he worked on the Project, Geordi saw that Troval kept a strict schedule and a just-as-tight ledger of their department’s work, even for an xB- and evidence of this was nowhere clearer than in their tech demo presentation reviews. But suspecting Troval knew tonight was an important occasion, the Betazoid had let their ever-vigilant nurses and surgeons rest and relax for the day- before their work would be inevitably poked, prodded, and hopefully _somewhat_ praised as they would show the public how much Borg-related procedures had advanced since 2368.

Maybe Troval could bring that huge surgical buzzsaw and revv it right alongside EMH.  
Geordi knew _Crusher_ would at least get a kick out of it.

Consultation Division staffers were also busy, but for entirely different reasons that made sense for the department's nature. Those not helping with the Gala’s physical setup were in charge of small questionnaire sessions and sensitivity review panels with Starfleet officials, providing the forum by which to possibly correct harmful thoughts regarding these former drones, or answering questions about the debrief packet. To lighten their mental loads from what was tedious and grating work, Geordi assured the xBs that he and Vorik would _personally_ correct Starfleet attendees if anyone was caught giving them especially-poignant trouble, and Geordi only hoped some xB staffer wouldn't have to bear that brunt of bigotry before they could intervene.

There was, of course, the matter of the venue itself: the Command Juggernaut, in all its misshapen, behemoth-sized glory.  
And the polygonal palace that had served as the Project’s guardian and ferryman for three months was finally going to live up to its descriptive namesake.

It was decided near the Atlas Project’s beginning that the Midway Gala ought to be hosted in the Command Juggernaut for a multitude of reasons, its Galaxy class-dwarfing size notwithstanding. _Solstice’s_ specialty starbase nature proved too small to host over 2,000 guests, _Theta_ and _Iota_ were tactical cubes that functioned primarily as medical ships, and Atlas was immediately out of the question. Not only would it possibly disturb the 1,500 souls still dormant within the sphere, but it was also an intrusion on the AI’s mind _and_ body still in repair- not to mention the Herculean task it would be trying to get Starfleet officials to willingly step aboard a recently Borg-aligned ship. So, while it was still difficult convincing Federation delegates to come through the Reclamation Project’s colossally-open doors, the venue was set, and Geordi was more than thrilled to imagine that ship’s gargantuan, multi-story observation chamber come to life with music, revelry, and communion.

With the Command Juggernaut returning only yesterday from a subspace warp conduit two hours before the _Titan_ , _Enterprise_ , and _Pasteur’s_ arrivals, there was plenty to do in converting the xB ferry’s Grand Observation Chamber into a sight for sore, Starfleet eyes. Hugh and Crosis were tending to a plethora of appropriate Director-related duties: overseeing decorations and dedicated floor plans, catering, greeting all sorts of guests and political envoys from Ohniaka III... as a result, Geordi’s xB was as busy as an xBee, and the two decided over text to meet in Hugh’s quarters aboard the Juggernaut instead of _Solstice_ before their opening speeches. Yet even for all the business Geordi was handling- for all the reviews and the approvals he had to direct, oversee, and _captain,_ a tender little thought had managed to worm itself into Geordi’s mind early into the afternoon.

It almost reminded him of a wedding. 

The invitations, the glamour, not seeing the “betrothed” until the ceremony itself began— the festivities and the nervousness of getting it all right, as well as making a good impression to both colleagues and those he loved, Hugh notwithstanding.

It was a selfish thought, sure. An indulgent imagination, even.

But Geordi let himself _indulge_ in that thought, to his own flustered embarrassment- if not to lighten his nerves, and keep him from drowning in the day's work.

It was why the Captain, bearing a freshly trimmed beard and a dress uniform with four pips, was grinning ear to ear as Captain Beverly Crusher let him examine a box marked [FRAGILE] she’d asked to give him a mere hour before Geordi was due to meet Hugh.

“I have a preeeetty good idea as to what this is, Beverly.” 

“What gave it away, Captain?” Crusher teased, crossing a leg on his quarters’ arm chair. “You don’t think Admiral _Jean-luc Picard_ can mix it up every now and then with his gift-giving?”

Geordi’s hand settled on the bottle-high box, turning it on its side to feel for whatever locks it had. “Well,” the Captain sighed, finding the package’s clasps, “it’s… _reasonably_ heavy but not _too_ heavy, if I _listen_ closely it makes a bit of a clinking noise, it’s _about_ the height of a wine bottle if you stacked a few of them together…” 

Crusher rolled her eyes and waved her hand with a smirk. “Alright, alright, you got him. He just asked me to deliver this since he felt his _civilian mailed_ box was taking its sweet time to get to you.”

“Ooo- maybe mine will arrive by the time we’re _done_ here, then?” 

“It’d certainly make a lovely ‘end-of-the-project treat’ for you and a certain Director.” 

“Ah-ah-ahhh; I can’t give him too much stuff like this," Geordi laughed, "poor man’s nanoprobes wouldn't know what to _do_ with all that alcohol...”

Unclasping the final lock on the box, Geordi smiled and gave a whistle at the Chateau Picard label on not one, not two, but _six_ bottles of the Admiral’s 2385 corkage. The gleaming Bordeaux blend shone beautifully in the light of _Solstice’s_ sun, the packaging crinkling as Geordi carefully, delicately, pulled a bottle from the sturdy box Jean-luc packaged himself.

There was also a note addressed to “Geordi La Forge” in Picard’s striking penmanship.   
But he’d read that later. 

Holding the bottle by the neck and giving it a wiggle, he smirked at Beverly. “Wanna have a toast beforehand?”

“You don’t want to wait for-?”

“We’re gonna be drinking with them _enough_ tonight,” Geordi reasoned, talking as he went to fetch some wine glasses and a wine key from the replicator. “Will and Deanna are finishing up and helping Kestra get tucked in for the evening, I think- and Worf’s taking his sweet time on the _Enterprise_ making sure everything’s in line before he hops over. Besides…” he mused, his smile turning reflective as he set down the glassware and went to work on the bottle’s foil, “I kinda _owe_ you a toast, Bev.”

She raised a brow. “You _owe_ me one?”

Geordi grinned and set aside the crumpled foil. 

“You told me to go for it,” he mused, flipping out the key’s corkscrew as he cradled the bottle, “for _him_. You gave me a push instead of letting me be a sad, sack-of-shit widow who couldn’t stop comparing things to Data. And I… needed that, y’know- from… someone who’s been there, too. Someone who saw him like I did when he first came aboard the _Enterprise_.” 

Beverly smiled with wistful eyes as she watched him wrestle with the wine. “How are you both doing, Geordi,” she asked. “What he said at your promotion was beautiful; I can only hope things are going well...?” 

Geordi had to bite his cheek as he prepared to uncork the bottle.

“Well, Bev,” the Captain sighed as he pulled, “he told me he loved me last night… and I finally told him _I_ did, too.” 

The cork popped out to compliment Geordi’s proud grin.

“And I think that calls for a toast, don’t ya think.”

Beverly’s eyes widened at his announcement, her mouth gaping in surprise at the other Captain's candor. Geordi was very tickled to watch his friend look him up and down, read his face as thoroughly as she could… and finally smirk while straightening in her seat, resolute in the confidence that _her_ friend, in turn, _was_ very much in love. 

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me too much, dear,” Beverly told him as Geordi poured her wine, “I’ll give a toast to that. I’m just glad that it’s so… he’s just so… oh, where do I even _start_ with what a sweet man Hugh's become--”

With cheeks burning in flattery, Geordi laughed as Beverly stood up to give him a kiss on the cheek and a murmured “congratulations,” hugging his side as he finished serving her glass. “You’re telling me you called it all the way back in October?”

“I think he’s loved you for a very long time, the more I think about it,” Beverly mused, “in his own way; even if you two were apart for so many years. Maybe even if he forgot it _himself,_ sometimes. But there was... “ 

She shook her head, swirling her drink by the glass’s stem. “It was something about the way he even _spoke_ to you on the _Enterprise,_ Geordi- all those years ago. The way he looked at us, how he had stars in his eyes as he spoke his first words... And _you,_ being the very kind, very caring man you are… you let that star come into existence, instead of just-- snuffing it out," she said with a hand wave and a grimace, "like I know many _others_ wanted to do.” 

Geordi swallowed from how gentle Beverly’s voice had become, the dull thud of the bottle being placed back down on the table the only reply he could muster. 

“ _You_ were the one who convinced Picard to let you bring him onboard in the _first_ place, Bev,” he offered. “I don’t think you get enough credit for that.” 

“I’m a doctor, Geordi; tending to the injured is my _job_ ,” she assured. “But _you_ could’ve refused to give him those cranial implants. Treated him poorly, not even fed him in that little cell of his, continued on with the original plan...”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t just-- leave him like that.” 

“Exactly,” she settled on, “you _didn’t_. ...instead, you showed him love. Care. Kindness. And two decades later, he-- offers that back to _you_ ,” Beverly realized, “and I’m very happy to hear you’ve let yourself _accept_ that love in return.”

Geordi’s cheeks burned again. “Now _that,_ I can make a toast to.” 

“Then why don’t we.” 

And with quiet little -dings!- toasted between rims, the two murmured “cheers” under their breaths, Geordi letting the _very_ genuine, extremely tasty, and _very potent_ wine run over his tongue. 

It was delicious.   
And it was also going to get his boyfriend very tipsy, very _quickly,_ if they weren’t careful.

“Mm.” Geordi swallowed. “God, that’s good.”

Geordi suddenly thought of something- a thought that made his lips purse alongside the pungency of the wine. 

“...Wonder what Jean-luc would think of us being together, considering everything.” 

“I couldn’t care less,” Beverly chided. _“you_ shouldn’t, _Hugh_ shouldn’t- _neither_ of you should care. ...I just thank him for the wine and kind regards for your promotion.”

Geordi heard the edge in Beverly’s words. The sharpness in her eyes clashing with softened nostalgia.

So he swirled his glass, bringing his gaze back up to the Captain opposite. 

“You ever worry about him, Bev?”

She nodded. “I do.” 

Beverly paused before taking another sip. 

“But I learned a long time ago not to wait on Jean-luc Picard when he has no interest in changing something.”

Geordi’s eyebrows knit together to offer an unspoken apology… and thankfully, Beverly accepted it, firming and smacking her lips from the wine’s pungency with a newfound, playful glint in her eyes. 

“Now come on,” she insisted with a wave of her hand, “come on, tell me; have you seen Hugh drunk at all yet?”

Geordi couldn’t help but laugh again. “He’s been responsible during this project,” Geordi humored, “but I’ve seen it a couple times. Just a little bit. And oh, Bev- he gets so damn cheery.”

“Tell me all about him, Geordi,” she chided, “we’ve got some time. And it looks like... you’ve been waiting to gush about Hugh for quite a while.”

And Geordi felt his cheeks dimple like a fresh-faced Academy cadet.

"Maybe a lil' bit."

* * *

**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER 0013, L.B.V. 'COMMAND JUGGERNAUT'  
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR'S QUARTERS**

Crosis turned off the trimmer that skirted the edge of his mustache. “All 17 demonstrations reviewed?”

Hugh stepped away from a mirror and plapped his badge to his geometric blazer, flipping up a UI interface and reviewing the demos in question. “All approved after Captain La Forge’s final submissions.” 

“Your speech?”  
“Edited and downloaded to my temporary archival nodes.”  
“Starfleet security teams?”  
“Each one paired with a Project staffer who did not wish to attend tonight; all 49 have a full guest roster downloaded to their temporary archival nodes as well, and everyone was briefed on proper screening procedures.”   
“Mm. Most thorough.”   
“I have been informed by Captain La Forge that Starfleet has seen its share of ‘interrupted’ delegations and events at the hands of ‘saboteurs’ and _other_ ill-intending, uninvited, or just… _bizarre_ parties,” Hugh sighed. “We cannot afford that happening tonight. The _Reclamation Project_ cannot afford that, Starfleet--”   
“I know. Our individually-powered efficiency will guide us, Director. You--” 

The Director puzzled as he heard Crosis stop and begin to approach him from the other side of his quarters, a smirk on his face as the man lumbered nearer… 

“What?”  
“Come here.” 

With a little tug, Crosis pulled off Hugh’s Reclamation Project badge that had been… put on... _upside down_ in his haste… 

The Director sighed. “Thank you.” 

Crosis re-affixed it rightside up. “Your appreciation is noted. Additionally, tonight you look… hm. I have many words, Hugh, but ‘ravishing’ seems most appropriate.” 

“And you, my friend,” Hugh returned, “look most beautiful yourself. Your hair is exquisite in any style, but when down it is always quite striking.” 

“I cannot compare to V’evik’s own in terms of length,” he chuckled, a hand running through his dark brown locks, “but it is--” 

The bell to Hugh’s quarters suddenly chimed, both he and Crosis’ heads whipping towards the door. They knew that all the Junctions and appropriate personnel were supposed to be waiting in the preliminary vestibules where the Grand Observation Chamber was, so who--

“Computer, identify visitor?” Hugh called. 

_“ <Executable holographic program: L.B.V. SP 4381 ‘Atlas’ at front door.>” _

Hugh and Crosis shared a glance, and while the Director probably had ‘confusion’ and ‘surprise’ swathed over his face, his friend had too many emotions plastered in a… reddening? Face? 

Crosis jabbed his thumb, nodding, “I will- um--”

The Director Second trotted (Hugh could even call it “skipped”) to the door, and there stood the xB hologram. Though his eyes were brilliant as ever, Atlas’ typical green-and-silver hemmed coat was traded for something of a mishmashed Cooperation fashion and possibly his own ornate design. With a high-collared, geometrically-scale-sleeved overcoat that went down to his knees, Atlas’ turtleneck bore the same Reclamation Project harness patterns at its collar in an ornate white, silver, and gold. His grey-tinged stubble and beard had the same evenness in a goatee that also ran along his jaw, he even had _gold studs,_ of all ordainments, and--

Atlas, in all his cubical stare, was looking at-- no, _was mesmerized,_ at Crosis.

And by the look of it, even from behind, Hugh could tell that Crosis was mesmerized as well.

Finally, Atlas’ face moved again, as if recovering from a momentary stutter in his program. “Director Second Crosis,” Atlas spoke, “Good evening. Forgive my intrusion to yours and Director Hugh’s preparations. Director Hugh: good evening to you as well.”

Hugh was merely watching, if intently- allowing the two at the door space to themselves. "Good evening, Atlas; no harm done by your presence."

“Yes, no worry at all,” Crosis said, “we are nearing completion on our-- ah! Where are my manners, forgive me; good evening, Atlas-," Crosis managed, "you look, ah…very--” 

The hologram looked up to him, raising his brow as if… waiting, listening, looking for _something--_

> _[Approval?]_

Hugh watched Crosis find something to do with his hands as he motioned to Atlas. “Apologies. I have many words by which to describe you, and you know yourself it is difficult to choose words at times. You look very _handsome_ and very _wonderful_ for this evening, Atlas. Did you… construct this outfit yourself?” 

Atlas smiled.

“Yes. I- had assistance from the Doctor’s advice as I researched Ohniakan replicator outfit patterns and fashions. I-- thank you. I am-- 'glad' to hear you approve. And- you, Crosis,” Atlas continued in his melodic candor, “your appearance and garments are extremely attractive.”

Hugh felt his eyes widen as much as Crosis’ ears reddened.

“Aha, ah-- ‘extremely?’” Crosis sputtered in flattery, his hands tightening behind his back. “That is a… rather-- strong--”

“Is it inappropriate?” Atlas asked, “have I offended you?"

“I-- not if you mean it!” Crosis laughed, “No, not at all! I ah… thank you. Genuinely, you humble me. We will make, an ah-- striking pair tonight if you still wish me to be your escort.”

"Please, if you would be willing to still occupy the space. The Doctor has volunteered and I take confidence in his company, but he insisted I should... come by and--" Atlas swallowed _(he did not need to swallow so thickly- was this another adopted behavior from Crosis?), "verify_ with you before any events began. Besides: the-- vestibule we were in, I was growing..." he paused, eyes flickering as they could when searching for words, "'antsy,' waiting. --Especially considering my program is--" 

"--outside the sphere?" 

Atlas nodded.   
And Hugh, with a spreading smile, watched his friend place a large hand on the holographic xB's shoulder. 

"I am proud of you. Your company is welcome and celebrated tonight."

"Thank you. As is... yours, in mine." 

Hugh was cataloging this exchange with "stars in his eyes" (as he'd heard the phrase from Geordi go), Crosis withdrawing his hand as he finally spoke: "you're certain you do not wish to speak tonight?"

"No. Perhaps another time. The thought of facing that many people as Director Hugh will is, ah..." 

"You may say 'harrowing,' if you feel it appropriate," Hugh offered, slinking up on the two (and Crosis reacting as if he'd remembered Hugh was there in the first place). "I am still mentally preparing myself, if it's any assurance. But your attendance and social observance will be a welcome guest among fellow xBs, Atlas; introduce yourself however you please, and know you have the choice to retire to the sphere's hull whenever you want." 

Atlas tried his best at a grin. "Of course. In that case, I will-- return, to the Doctor," he decided, "and await your arrivals with the Junctions. And, ah, Hyades: she is well?" 

"Indeed," Crosis assured him. "She's resting in her _Solstice_ quarters for the evening, amusing herself with some research."   
"Regarding?"   
"Mycology," Hugh chimed in with, "at Crosis' encouragement." 

The photonic xB nodded in appreciation.

“I will take my leave, Directors. Thank you for allowing me a visit.” 

And with that, with one more glance up to Crosis, Atlas flickered out of existence and the door whisked shut.

Hugh, meanwhile, rolled his tongue against his cheek and turned his gaze up to a still _very_ flustered Crosis, the Director's lips curling and his eyes leveling...

“Computer, enhanced privacy mode, please,” Hugh called, to which the room trilled in compliance and execution.

Hugh tilted his head.   
He looked at Crosis with a barely-open mouth as the taller man frowned.

“What.” 

Hugh continued to look at Crosis.   
The Director Second swallowed. 

“What?”

As Hugh _continued_ to look at Crosis, his organic brow rose and Hugh felt his lips curl upwards.  
His friend’s face was redder than Geordi’s pomegranate mimosa.

“What!?” 

“You mock me if you think I find that interaction irrelevant and not worthy of mention.”

Crosis fidgeted in place and looked down to his feet, hands behind his back while he wiggled his jaw... 

And for all Hugh had recorded, observed, and _known_ of his friend in their decades-long individuality, clarity struck him as clear as an Ohniakan spring morning, the Director raising and pointing a finger at Crosis. “You _like_ him, don’t you--!” 

“Hugh!” Crosis groaned, his shoulders slumping and a metal-laced hand running through his hair, “I-- maybe? I believe so? It… I--”

“Ohhh, ‘I would like Director Second Crosis’ to escort me,’” Hugh repeated, “‘I’ll speak to him myself'-- 'Atlas this,' 'Atlas _that;'_ is _this_ why I find you returning from his hull late in the evening?”

“I’ll stop!” Crosis relinquished, “I’ll… forgive me, I’ve just-- I see… our experiences correlate, Hugh, I can relate to him- and his program, his _very nature_ I find so _compelling_ and he _insists_ I accompany him so often _;_ I lose track of time!” Crosis laughed in disbelief, “me, one who has-- recordings, a chronometer built _into_ us! --me, losing track of time! He is becoming a _remarkable_ individual, I enjoy speaking with him, and--”

Though he listened emphatically, joyously, the beginning of Crosis’ ramble tugged at Hugh’s attention.

He interrupted the Director Second with a shake of his head and a murmured “No,” Hugh’s face falling somewhat from delight to concern. “No no, what-- repeat; did you say ‘I’ll stop?’ Crosis, why would… do you think I’m going to instruct you to _end_ your company with Atlas?”

“You do not… reprimand me?” Crosis asked meekly, “advice me to cease? After all, I have- made myself known to him as a Consultation counselor, with others I could not--”

The Director shook his head again, but a newfound understanding unwound his brow as he looked upwards. “You have worked… so diligently, without fail and without wavering, for as long as the Reclamation Project has existed, Crosis,” Hugh told him. “I have loved you, I... _still_ do, and you have helped me through sorting my own… _at-times unnamable_ emotions towards Geordi. Emotions that surfaced during and _despite_ this project’s administrative importance. And I believe I may say that Atlas is a ‘special circumstance,’ all factors considered.”

The Director squeezed his friends’ biceps, the fabric of the thin armsleeves a striking contrast to his sleeveless and ornate vest. “You have listened to me these three months, my entire _life_ lived as myself,” he assured. “The least I could do, Crosis, is let _you_ explore this direction your individuality takes you.”

“But he’s been-- spending so much time with the _EMH,_ and while I enjoy the Doctor’s company, he becomes so _quiet_ now around him when I am there… _nervous,_ hesitant, even--” 

“What do you do _best,_ my friend?” Hugh reminded Crosis, waiting to see how he would take the question.  
To Hugh's surprise, before he could respond, Crosis seemed… what was the appropriate word: stunned? Unsure? Wavering?

> _[Nervous]_

Just like he was with Geordi.

While the experiences of individuality were as vast as they were infinitely diverse, it was always comforting to see that there were at _least_ some commonalities. 

Hugh took his friend's hands. “You _listen,_ Crosis _._ You talk to others outside yourself to give them new perspectives. Perhaps... he is finding another perspective, more 'inspiration' with the Doctor? Atlas requested someone like him to speak with, after all," Hugh offered. "You know yourself one individual cannot be another's whole world. Maybe... do you--" 

"Wait, wait," Crosis followed, "are you... saying the Doctor has been a-- what would be the word, a-- 'confidant?'"

"That could work. I heard Geordi call Beverly his 'wingman' once when it came to affairs with Data."

Crosis chuckled. "I will find myself a _tad_ embarrassed around the Doctor if that turns out to be true. But... you are so kind with your words, Hugh. Thank you." 

Hugh's hands, still holding Crosis' own, pulled them to his lips to kiss the back of his gnarled and metal-lined palms. “You have my… no, not- permission. What is the term I heard Geordi use,” Hugh pondered- and with a squeeze of their hands, he got it, “‘blessing!’ Crosis, please. Choose to pursue this, if you so want. Boast your wholly-made self tonight to those who come to judge us. Just as I ponder you will boast about _Atlas_ tonight, and as much as _he_ will, too.”

Crosis swallowed again. “You think so?”

And Hugh grinned in return. “I would have Troval run _diagnostics_ on me if I were _not_ certain and making this claim.”

Crosis looked down, nodding… and finally re-met Hugh for a poignant-as-ever xB stare, his mustache wriggling as much as his lips did. 

“Thank you, Hugh."

And to level the field, the Director considered something that would make Crosis' confession a mutual exchange. 

“I, ah… only hope that I have your-- _retroactive_ blessing for," Hugh said, relinquishing his friends' hands. "Something I may have told Geordi about involving you and I in the past, now that I have extended clarity in this social area…”

Crosis tilted his head in waiting.

"About... you and I, when we were younger. _M_ _uch,_ younger-- _22 years_ and _2 months_ and _17 days younger_ specifically, and we--"

Crosis began to smirk.   
"Our topography survey trip."

Hugh sighed. "Yes."

“How much did you tell him?”

The Director pursed his lips with a smirk despite the blush. “Well…” Hugh hummed for a beat, “I told him _enough..._ to the point that I discovered that ‘Sex on the Beach’ is _also_ apparently the name of an Earthen alcoholic beverage.”

Crosis’ eyes widened. “It is? A-- what do they call it again, ‘cocktail’-? What a strange name, why do they even name it--”

“I’m discovering there are some very _stupid_ names humans give their drinks. Have you had it before?”

“I didn’t even know it _was_ a drink until just now.”

> _[He was once him]  
> _ _[Now he was not]  
> _ _[He loved his friend]_
> 
> **`[ r ub bed off o n h im ] ` **

A bratty spark flared through Hugh as he grinned and papped Crosis’ taut chest, murmuring “that’s _exactly_ what I said” while his Director Second laughed. “I will _try_ to request one from Armstrong's bartenders, but I do not know if it will be as _good_ as the ones Geordi makes in his holoprograms.” 

“I will value the experience regardless.” 

“I hope you _enjoy_ said experience. Now- shall we?” Hugh urged in challenge. “Let us show the Federation a _fraction_ of what we’ve built.” 

Crosis smiled. “How proud your declarations are, Director.”

“We have a lot to _be_ proud of, Director Second.” 

* * *

**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER 0013, L.B.V. 'COMMAND JUGGERNAUT'  
TURBOLIFT 17 TO GRAND OBSERVATION CHAMBER  
**

**-1755 HRS-**

Geordi bounced on his heels. “How many turbolift routes do Command Juggernauts have, Hugh?” 

“27, according to my last Engineering Division update.” 

“Aaand would halting one put a dent in workflow or transportation productivity?”

“The Juggernaut class has enough that one pausing would not cause a significant delay,” Hugh told him; and while he spoke, Geordi grinned as he listened to Hugh’s voice trail off while he reached for the turbolift stop, pressing the button with a smirk on his lips, “why, do you… ask--” 

And while Geordi’s gloved hands went to cup the other man’s face, the Captain was very tickled that the silence of their kiss was the only explanation Hugh needed.

Their lips parted, Geordi not quite ready to relinquish Hugh’s face yet. “Guess what.”

“I have observed you enough times to know this question is rhetorical. Also, why do I taste wine?” 

Geordi tsk’ed with a shake of his head. “So _observant_ , you xBs are...” 

Hugh's brow rose. “My performance and obligations as station co-manager and _partner_ would be poor were I _not.”_

“You mean a ‘boyfriend?’” 

Geordi’s smirk wriggled as he watched Hugh’s face flush from the term of endearment, the hilt of Geordi’s thumbs and palms wanting nothing more than to squish the xB’s cheeks. 

The Director regained his composure. “What was I supposed to ‘guess,’ Captain?”

“A few things you already know,” Geordi alluded as his hands left Hugh’s face, “or at least _should_ already know. But in _case_ you need a reminder, Director: I love you, you look beautiful, and you’re gonna do great tonight with whatever you gotta do.”

Geordi supposed he oughta get an _actual_ tally going for how many times he could leave the man at a loss for words, unable to hold back a wide smile and satisfied chuckle with Hugh who did the same.

Not much to debate or say when Geordi spoke the truth, after all.

The Captain's hand reached for the turbolift to resume their ride, and--

“No, no…” 

Hugh stopped him with a jolt and a swat of his hand away from the screen...  
The xB's blue and brown eyes darted from the turbolift controls back to the Captain. An augmented hand slowly pushed Geordi’s back to its side as his smile turned playful, stepping towards him and--

“ _I_ get one now-” 

And Geordi did not dare deny an xB the exploration of individuality’s spontaneous nature, his chest fluttering at the way Hugh held _his_ face while various thoughts washed their ways onto his mental shores. 

“I love _you,”_ Hugh said in return, the words still so _immense_ each time he spoke them aloud, “ _You_ look beautiful, and I know you _too_ will perform wonderfully in whatever it is you must do.”

Geordi wondered if Hugh was _also_ thinking about a tally board, too, considering the way Geordi felt his face redden and his cheeks begin to hurt.

“The sentiment’s mutual, Hugh.” 

> **`[ i’m h e re a nd s o a re y o u ]`**

After a moment Geordi wished could last much longer, he felt Hugh withdraw his hands' jawline embrace, the Director touching the turbolift’s touchpad to resume their ride. “You still wished to meet in your quarters at 2300?” 

“Mmmhm,” Geordi hummed, “and if anyone tries to hold me up any _later_ than that, I’ll just very politely remind them that we actually have _work_ here to get back to tomorrow.”

“Most reasonable and understandable. I am additionally thankful for such reasoning, considering I did not have a chance to properly _congratulate_ you yesterday regarding your promotion.”

“You already did, I thought?”  
“Not thoroughly _enough_ for my standards.” 

As Geordi snickered, Hugh recalled his original question. “You still never told me why you taste like wine, by the way.” 

“Let’s just say I have a _surprise_ waiting for you back in said quarters,” the Captain hinted, "all the way from Earth. Think you’re gonna like it.” 

“I anticipate so.” 

Both Geordi’s and Hugh’s eyes watched the Juggernaut’s turbolift approach meter reach its end, the Captain taking a deep breath in and swallowing as he knew what would be on the other side of that door. 

A finality. A speech to be made with many more impromptu monologues to follow. Festivities and pleasantries and political panderings- all hinging on a night that the Federation and Cooperation so desperately needed to go smoothly.

So with an arrival indicator bar growing ever closer to its destination, Geordi took a deep breath and began to count.

 _Five_.

A mental pull assured him he wasn't the _only_ one counting for comfort's sake.

_Four._

> _[Three]_
> 
> **`[t w o]--` **

And the doors opened to the Command Juggernaut's grand chamber vestibule that housed the Project's primary Junctions and two signers; two for Federation Standard Sign Language, and two for xBSL. 

The Command Juggernaut's "Grand Observation Chamber" certainly lived up to its namesake in all grandness and observation capability. Currently arranged by two floors, it could easily hold 2,500 people and had the ability to shift and adjust to what was "efficient," its great geometrical buttresses sliding and moving to accommodate for either wide field recreation or steepled concerts. Its primary purpose was for ferrying and transportation in between Ohniaka III and wherever a great salvaging of xBs occurred, after all; the first and last Command Juggernaut to see active battle (and be utilized for such) was during the 2368 encounter with the _Enterprise-D,_ and Geordi wondered how much Hugh delighted in the fact his people were able to use their great works for even greater purpose. 

The attending 2,187 had been gathered to the upper two levels to watch the Project co-managers and kick off the Gala, Geordi hearing the murmurs as he stood with Hugh, Crosis, Vorik, and the translators in the preceding hallway. It was a small stage they would be walking onto, surrounded by walls shimmering with view screen "windows" to Taijal's sun outside, and Atlas' hull hanging in the near distance. This stage would eventually give way to a small gathering of musicians from Ohniaka III once their speech was over- the main musical accompaniment the very same Lieutenant that Geordi once read about from Dr. O'Reilly's writings.

It was also a small stage where Geordi would look up to over 2,000 attendees and introduce the love of his life, and the people he so loved and worked so hard for.

He could do this. 

"Alright," Geordi sighed, "we all ready?"

Vorik nodded once. "Director Second Crosis and I are ready to offer our presence, Captain."   
"My sentiments exactly, Commander." 

"I do believe, then," Hugh breathed in sharply, "we are ready."  
"Right."

With a nod to the translators, Geordi waited for lighting cue to hit 1600 hours exactly.   
As Geordi stood next to Hugh, his hand opened, flexed, and closed- desperately wishing he could hold it now to calm his nerves. 

And before he could fully engage with a wafting of peace, calm, and shared anxiousness he felt from Hugh, the lights dimmed and brightened, and the group of eight proceeded out to a generous applause.

Suddenly, in an Starfleet-driven flurry, he was standing on stage, his hands were folded together, and he took a deep breath as Captain Geordi La Forge looked up and all around him.

The glint of Starfleet deltas and Reclamation Project badges, the gold and silver trim of the Cooperation ship, the railings of the balconies, the faint glow of xB eyes... it all made the windows and ceiling glitter like stars. 

Geordi finally smiled.   
Because he'd looked to the stars for nearly his entire life, and again they'd led him somewhere that began to feel like home.

“To all who are here,” Geordi began, his voice clear and strong as it tested the echo of the chamber. “Whether you are Federation Citizen, Cooperation Resident; Starfleet officer, Reclamation Project volunteer… colleagues, scholars, acquaintances, or maybe even _friends_ to either party… we welcome you to this historic occasion, celebrating a just-as-historic _collaboration_. ...A collaboration between two factions: one, a coalition of planets dedicated to peace, prosperity, and an enduring search for knowledge… and the other, a people,” Geordi proclaimed, “that serve as living proof, a _testament-_ that for them, for _anyone…_ resistance was _not_ futile. ...That resistance is powerful, it is creative- it is _free-thinking_ , and it inspires _others_ to resist and build a society _out_ of that resistance. A society that exists to give _others_ a home who resisted, or were _cast out_ because they did. And in their very act of… resistance, of support, of _unity_ … that society erupted into something more. Something prosperous. Something that hosts you tonight… and I will let some _one_ far more fitting than I present that something."

"...Invited company of the United Federation of Planets, Liberated Borg Cooperation, and to all those in their attendance:” Geordi announced, “I, Captain Geordi La Forge, am honored to introduce Executive Director Hugh of the Reclamation Project; the _appropriate_ representative to truly christen this evening.”

> **`[ your turn t h ank you ou r tu rn ]` **

And though the applause of the audience echoed overhead, the only voice of approval that mattered was the warmth he felt wafting from Hugh’s general direction.

Though Geordi thought he could even hear _Riker_ giving a whistle, too. 

As the applause began to quiet, Hugh stepped forward some as Geordi scooted back, the Captain watching the Director hold his hands behind him and look up, around to the gathered thousands above them…

Geordi smirked. 

> _Go get ‘em._

“Thank you, Captain La Forge. ...And thank you _all,_ in equal enthusiasm, who have attended this Midway Gala. I-- _must_ preface my words before I speak any further, however, with a disclaimer,” Hugh noted, “that former Borg do not often prefer _speaking_ for other former Borg. As principle, we value individual thoughts and voices in the highest regard, and even _revel_ in declaring this sentiment to others upon introduction. So, before I continue further: to my fellow xBs,” Hugh called, looking upwards with what looked like all the light of heaven in his mismatched eyes, “I thank you for allowing me to speak for us _._ I can only hope my words are enough for the innumerable ones we are able to choose.”

Hugh took in a deep breath, and Geordi noted the slight hum of murmurs between the attendees, the faint glitter of species with light-refracting eyes a contrast to the spotlight they were under.

“Stardate 45854.2.”

Geordi swallowed.

“A date some of you may recall as nothing more than a Starfleet report from the _Enterprise-D_ ; detailing the discovery, salvaging, and reparation of a Borg drone from a downed scout ship that only knew the designation ‘Third of Five.’ ...Some may know this date as ‘the Borg that got away;’ _perhaps_ some may still consider it a ‘detrimental tactical loss’ for the Federation and her allies. ...I speak these latter trains of thought, because we have had them spoken to _us_.” 

Hugh allowed the implication to settle through the audience.

“But I know this Stardate in a different sense. And so does this drone I speak of, too. That drone, for all his confusion, befuddlement, and _awestruck_ reception to the world around him… he was taught compassion. Shown care. Kindness. Repair: _beyond_ its mechanical meaning. _Humanity, beyond_ its literal definition in his language memory banks. ...And though this drone can recall the frightened stares of ensigns, the hesitant looks of Commanders- the contemplation of utilization by Starfleet, and would eventually know the debacle in deciding whether or not this drone may _live..._ this Stardate, and its five subsequent day cycles after, are the days this drone began to _live_ ,” Hugh continued, “and are the days the Liberated Borg Cooperation of the Alpha Quadrant would take its first, progenitor-like breath.”

The Director collected himself again.

“But many outside of the Cooperation are not aware of _other_ poignant dates. Dates that led us to where we are now. Stardate 45867.25,” Hugh began to rattle, “the date I was returned to the Collective by arrival of Cube 5219, in full health and request of my own person. Stardate 45867.25: _also_ the date that the Cube I was returned to began to collapse from my brush with individuality. Stardate 45887.01, the date our link to the Collective was severed, the date Cube 5219’s Queen met a bitter end, the day this Cube fell from the heavens in Cubesfall, and 2,957 of my kin lost the brief lives they had lived in clarity upon that fall to Ohniaka III.”

Hugh, recovering his shaking voice, paused for a brief swallow. 

“...But there are more,” Hugh continued, “more Stardates than these. More dates that we memorialize in joy and advancement, rather than merely ones steeped in grief and in tragedy. Stardate 47025.4: the day the _Enterprise-D_ visited Ohniaka III and charged us with autonomy. Stardate 47031.11: the marker of which we declare the _first_ Reclamation Procedure. The day we finalized the plans our Capitol’s infrastructure, the day of when we _envisioned_ the Reclamation Project… and these dates, while many others lie interspersed in our 10-year seclusion,” Hugh declared, “would be remiss if I did not mention when we first hailed the Federation in a plea for support, and Stardate 55463.82:” Hugh called proudly, “the date that plea was answered by the works of the _USS Keter’s_ complement _,_ the time we know as societal-wide _Reconstitution,_ and Stardate 56464.58: the occasion that, a mere one year later, allows us to assemble and work together as we do now, as we signed the Ohniakan Accords of 2379 at Federation Headquarters.”

He allowed the audience to quiet in their politce applause before continuing. “In the span of 12 years, we have opened our galactic doors to those like us, and Ohniaka III’s population has grown from that weakened, dying 1,227, to 54,328 strong. And out of those 54,238, every xB greets every Stardate and remembers who they are. I remember that I am Hugh, I give thanks that I am no longer what I once was! For I am no _longer_ Third of Five,” Hugh declared, “...and yet I carry him with me every day of my life. For I have learned not to _rue_ what I once was… but instead _celebrate_ what I have become, in spite of the drone I once was. ...Every _xB_ you meet tonight is no _longer_ the Hivemind they were once taken or subjugated to be. They are, instead, a _person_. An _individual_ ,” Hugh stressed, “just as any sapient being experiences life and learns from it. And those individuals... who gather together, in clarity-given agency and free will, to _help_ others like ourselves become their own individuals… _that_ is what the Reclamation Project is. We strive to ‘Reclaim’ what was taken. Reclaim lives, personalities, existences, homes, families... And it is a ‘Project,’” Hugh began to finish, “because our work has no definitive end, just as _we ourselves_ are forever works-in-progress. It shall be a ‘Project’ so long as the Collective exists… and so long as there are those who will resist.”

Geordi’s heart swelled as Hugh took in another breath.

“My story is merely one out of 54,328. And those 54,328 have their own histories that make their own impact upon the Cooperative. You, who gather here tonight in a _fraction_ of their company… you leave an impact upon those people. So I implore you!” Hugh proclaimed, “And so too do my kin! Revel with us! Allow our self-made persons a chance at celebration! Advocate for those persons outside of these halls! Grant our individual clarity the recognition of personhood! Of discovery; of technological and medical and cybernetic advancement! And may our communion, our association, our _Cooperation,”_ Hugh stressed, clapping his hands together and holding them tight, “guide us towards prosperity. Collaboration. ...and furthered Reclamation.”

He paused... and then gave a wide, very Hugh-like grin to the audience.

“Thank you. May all of you enjoy this evening.” 

Geordi, though he was still on stage, clapped in all celebration, joy, and _pride_ for the man Hugh was today who’d given this speech, and Geordi was thankful he was not alone in the reassuringly-loud choir of celebration. 

Somewhere, far lost in that crowd of applauding 2,187 attendees, Riker whistled even louder.

And by the time Geordi was coming down from the adrenaline of the stage's floor, the tiny orchestra was assuming their seats and instruments, and he'd snuck in a tight hug and so many "you did so good" whispers, Hugh furrowed his brow after emerging from one of Crosis' tight hugs, and reached for the PADD inside his jacket.

Geordi watched him closely. "Everything alright?"

His lips went tight- divided somewhere between wistfulness, exasperation, and a genuine grin.  
So Hugh turned the PADD to show Geordi. 

It was a personal message, the Sender's identity written in Borg script.

> **> How dashingly bold you are, Little Prince. **

Geordi rolled his eyes with a flat, yet bemused look. 

_Thank_ fuck _she wasn't coming tonight._

* * *

**-1811 HRS-**

The Midway Gala started off with strong words, and seemed to carry itself on just as strong for the rest of the night. 

After the touchingly-intimate concert from that Starfleet-begotten Lieutenant, enamoring the audience by placing his old Starfleet badge on top of a piano before he began with his group (that Geordi now knew as Orpheus)[[,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90upGZ8k6oI)] the floors began to descend and reshuffle into a more navigable construction rather than something intended for theatrical viewing. The previously-placed decorations were all brought out of transporter energy signature storage, standing tables and places for respite littered around the Observation Chamber's circular floor. While there were still two upper levels, they were significantly smaller and designed for sightseeing, the bar serving as the primary anchor for all three levels as it rose like a great tree and sprawled into the Command Juggernaut's ceiling. Cycling xB musicians (and Geordi supposed their equivalent of 'DJs') tended to the musical arrangements mostly done on synths and other easy to listen to music, occasionally taking livelier songs or recommendations for those who found company on the small, yet moody dance floor. Special transcepts were reserved for Reclamation Project and Starfleet personnel giving their tech demonstrations in holographic gusto, tall and glowing UI pane lists of who and what was where littered around the Observation Chamber's floor for ease of navigation. Drones floated aimlessly by taking empty glassware and cleaning half-bitten canapés, and the air felt electric as the crowds began to intermingle by either force, politeness, or a genuine desire to discover, connect, and understand.

If Geordi entertained himself with the thought of this being a wedding, then this was certainly a hell of an after-party.

As the Captain committed the floor plan to memory again after seeing it in actual use, he felt Hugh nudge his arm and point at two women approaching them; one with radiantly silver hair against her Admiral's dress uniform, and the other wearing an ensemble that reminded him of the 1940s against the silver of her augments.

“Director Hugh,” Janeway crowed with a strong shake of his hand, “wonderful speech. Captain La Forge; just-as-strong introduction. You make a well-functioning and _verbose_ team, it seems.” 

“That we do, Admiral,” Geordi agreed. “Thank you for the assurance.” 

The Admiral nodded, but leveled her gaze. “You watch yourselves tonight, gentlemen. Be prepared to stand your ground, should some of these Starfleet pleasantries start to slip off.”

Hugh frowned. “Your honesty is oddly comforting.” 

“Thank Captain Torres for that,” Seven pointed out, “much of tonight’s attending crew from _Voyager_ and the Admiral had a long discussion before our attendance tonight.” 

“Y’all went over the guest list together? Go for a trip down memory lane?”

Seven allowed herself a smirk. “Most thoroughly on _both_ accounts.”

“It felt like one of our oldReady Room debriefs,” Kathryn humored. “I see you’ve piqued the Doctor’s interest into Reclamation Project fashion? He looks quite dashing in that ensemble he's wearing tonight...” 

Geordi chuckled. “So _that’s_ where he was today… but hey; any names in particular you know we oughta watch out for?” the Commander asked, “any Starfleet projects the staffers should try and talk about while giving their demos?”

“Some of it’s special interests, some of it’s classified,” Janeway sighed. “And some of those said ‘special interests’ are just as classified as your _‘guest’_ downstairs in _Solstice_ is.”

 _"Surely_ Starfleet must understand the adherent value xBs _place_ upon honesty,” Hugh tried to tease and ooo, Geordi knew he was teasing, “not to _mention_ how it could further technological collaborations alongside humanitarian ventures…”

Janeway’s hand went to rub at her chin as she thought about the request.

“ _I_ will speak to the Captain and Director if you are not willing to share your preliminary gossip with them, Admiral.”

Janeway looked up to Seven and almost _tried_ to grimace, with Seven merely looking down with a raised brow and her own pursed lips.

So with a quick sip to her champagne flute, the Admiral’s eyes danced around the chamber and looked for anyone who may be sightseeing.

“Keep watch for us?”

“Of course, Kathryn.” 

“Thank you. Now Captain, Director- you will listen to me and listen to me _once:_ is that clear.” 

Granted, Hugh could listen as many times as he wanted with those processors of his. 

But they both nodded and huddled a bit closer together. “Yes Ma’am.”

**-1846 HRS-**

With Galas came the inevitable, occasionally frivolous conversations.

Some conversations, unfortunately, less than frivolous, and much more _infuriating._

“Commander Rondmann, I am _trying_ to explain this to you,” Geordi sighed. “‘Drone’ is a _very_ context-sensitive term in between xBs, depending on their severances or their feelings towards the Collective. ‘Former Borg,’ ‘Reclaimed,’ ‘xB’ are the generally-accepted terms for people of the Cooperation; you can’t just--”

“I simply don’t understand why I can’t call them what they _were_ once, Sir!” The Lieutenant Commander tried to protest as Geordi tightened his jaw. “I've heard them even _tonight_ label subjects in their tech demonstrations with it, why--”

An older Fleet Captain in the circle tried to interject, raising her finger as if to try and hush the man. “Commander Rondmann, that _was_ in reference to an… ‘Unreclaimed’ xB, if I remember correctly--” 

“The term _does_ imply a level of… lack of autonomy,” another Lieutenant pointed out. “I can understand why a large section of the population wouldn’t want to have outsiders use such a word…”

“But it's still a drone calling another drone a ‘drone!’ What's the difference if I call a Borg drone that if it's firing on us from a cube, or one that's been sleeping in a cold storage?” 

Geordi swirled a very hard mouthful of champagne in his cheek before swallowing.

“Mm, alright Rondmann; I see. You’ll eat from the Reclamation Project's plates, drink from their glasses; shmooz Starfleet officers in their halls, hold a good _lip service_ at their demos... But you can’t respect a _basic request_ to _not_ use a term,” Geordi said cooly as he brought himself closer to Rondmann, “that I know for a _fact_ was included with the debrief packet’s required etiquette. And I _know,_ because I helped _write_ the packet.”

The Lieutenant Commander’s eyes widened, and the other three officers watched the Captain in silence.

“Now will I have to file a Report of _Complaint_ against you _now_ and sacrifice _my time_ for this?” Geordi warned, “or will I have the _guarantee_ that you will _accept_ whatever disciplinary protocols your Captain will enact once they hear of this disrespect and insubordination?” 

Rondmann looked to Geordi’s captaincy pips with a new dread in his eyes. 

“...No. I shall take my leave, Captain La Forge.”

“Please do, Commander.”

And Geordi stared him down as Rondmann left the Starfleet circle, sighing quietly as the other officers cleared their throats.

“I hope _you_ all understand?” 

“Undoubtedly.” 

“Clearly.” 

Geordi allowed himself a whiff of victory behind another sip despite his frown. “Good.”

**-1917 HRS-**

Hugh wondered what that brief flash of anger was from Geordi's direction, in contrast to _him_ experiencing... delight, excitement, even _elation_ , as he absorbed the words of the two Trill Symbiont Commission delegates before him regarding a certain xB (and overall possible relations with Trill).

“The Commission will _consider_ Rem's reintroduction, then!”

“I said _we_ will consider it, Director Hugh. Overcoming the Commission’s near-slavish rigidness to ‘tradition’ may yet be our downfall, one day…” the taller of two Trill sighed. “But Amzi and the symbiont Rem’s ‘condition’ could offer our oral history a powerful new integration of understanding multitudes channeled by one lifetime. We would also be immensely thankful for the chance to have eventually reintroduced and… ‘reclaimed,’ a symbiont such as Rem from the Borg.”

“Karthon and I will prepare a proposal, and forward it to Ohniaka III for their approval before submission to the Commission's Board.”

Hugh nodded, glancing between the green-haired Trill off with their wife and the two Commission representatives he spoke to. “I thank you both in earnest. And, I-- _say_ this in nothing _but_ the same earnestness,” the Director continued, “when I _remind_ the distinguished Commissioners that, for xBs… our existence is not a ‘condition.’ It is an inherent, irremovable, _immutable_ trait about us that must be accommodated for, acknowledged, and allowed to exist _as_ that self. Much like the symbionts themselves; we were once many, and then we were not. We are singular, but we take that multitude with us wherever we go and grow as our own individuals. There is… still much to _learn_ from Amzi and Rem as xBs, of course, but… who knows,” Hugh mused. “Perhaps future Trill xBs who have been Reclaimed will take comfort and may expand upon this symbiont’s life that you so willingly offer care and concern for.”

The Commissioners exchanged glances. 

“We will be _mindful_ of our proposal’s wording, Director."

 _"And_ how the Caves of Mak'ala themselves would even _react_ to a symbiont filled with nanoprobes.” 

Hugh grinned. “And the Cooperation will be happy to review everything and anything. ...Just as much as Amzi would.”

**-1932 HRS-**

Other encounters of note Geordi bookmarked were him meeting more Progenitor xBs from Ohniaka III. Marked by small, green lines universally hemmed into the lapels of their blouses, coats, or blazers, Geordi could tell Hugh was thrilled at the prospect of this special group of people meeting a man Hugh had spoken of so dearly in their days of early individuality. One, in particular, was the Progenitor from the _Pharagodia_ Hugh had spoken of not a handful of days earlier; visible by their tall stature and the cerulean hair, Hugh smiled as he watched as Crosis and Atlas arrive first to meet Lieutenant Ari, the burly Director Second scooping the lanky xB up in a bear hug and a laugh that could be heard even from their distance.

“Ari’s Captain seems somewhat _surprised_ at Crosis,” Hugh chuckled, watching as the stout Captain and his XO backed up some, “I hope this Mr. Caldwell is not too alarmed.”

“If someone came up and hugged _Deanna_ like that and I didn’t know ‘em, I might raise an eyebrow too. Caldwell can be a rigid guy, from what I’ve heard,” Geordi hummed, “pretty by-the-book, he's got a nickname of 'Crusty Caldwell' back around HQ; but he has some tender heart moments on his record. I looked him up after you told me about Ari; he’s been given a bit of an oddball with the _Pharagodia._ Entire crew is almost _all_ non-human, you know that?” 

“I did not,” Hugh chimed. “It seems Ari has their work cut out for them. And are my visual augments malfunctioning, or is that a... _Romulan_ First Officer I see...?"

"Mhm. One of the few _in_ Starfleet; Caldwell gives him nothing but glowing reviews in his dossiers though, so who am I to judge."

"Indeed. And therefore I shall not either, especially if Ari seems to trust their company."

“Exactly. Now come on!” Geordi urged, “come on; the more the merrier; and _I_ wanna meet more of the family.” 

Hugh snickered. “It’s very amusing to know you think of Progenitor xBs in such a manner.” 

“You spent 10 years stuck together on a planet with 1,200 or so people like you, Hugh; if I were you, I might've started callin’ them that too."

**-1952 HRS-**

The Trill weren't the only Federation-adjacent ambassadors Hugh met tonight. 

Together with Junction V’evik, wife to Amzi and a non-verbal xB translator named Tavek, and Commander Vorik, Hugh stood before a group of four Vulcans: chosen Abassador M’vek, Commander Tuvok serving as a Federation liaison between the Vulcan High Council and Starfleet, and two others in political company.

A part of Hugh hoped Geordi felt the flare of pride he felt in his chest at being able to give the Vulcan salute, the entire company exchanging the typical “Live long and Prosper” greeting.

“Your… ‘Reprisal,’ as I have come to understand the Liberated Borg hallmark,” Tuvok resumed, “this was when again, Junction V’evik?” 

“The Vulcan Science Institute Outpost salvaging of 2383,” V’evik explained. “My parents were unfortunately victims of the initial assimilation in 2377. Executive Director Hugh himself was among those involved in my… technically _second_ Reprisal date.”

M’vek’s eyebrow rose. “It is possible to have more than _one?”_

“Correct. Reprisal is the date an xB was severed from the Collective; my initial date of… ‘departure’ was two weeks before the Reclamation Project arrived, but Hugh’s team salvaging those abandoned by the Hive embodied what I hold to be my Reprisal in _earnest.”_

“2383… In eight years of not only--” the Ambassador M’vel squinted, “‘Reclamation’, by the hands of this organization’s works… you have already proven yourself capable of leading an entire Cybernetics Division mission apart from Ohniaka III in partnership with Starfleet?”

V’evik was quiet. 

“Correct, Ambassador,” Vorik picked up for them, “and I have observed the results of that capability _myself_ during my three-month tenure serving as Starfleet sub-station manager.”

M’vel looked back to both V’evik and Tavek at Vorik’s side.

Vorik held his ground.

“I would expect no less from a former Borg who has obviously adhered themselves to the values of our people,” Tuvok pointed out from behind. “We would be remiss not to seize this opportunity to further connections with Ohniaka III’s Vulcan Diaspora… and, return the _interest,”_ he continued to notice with a glance to V’evik and Tavek, “they seem to extend to _us.”_

Tavek nodded, signing in Vulcan behind her black and gold face mask. “<Agreed, Sir. Interest, even, is an understatement.>”

“We have much to discuss,” the lead Ambassador noted. “Join us for conversation if you will, Commander Vorik. Junction V’evik, Talek,” the Ambassador told them, “we will return within three minutes. Thank you for your audience.” 

Hugh watched V’evik and Tavek’s eyes widen for .3 seconds, the Junction nodding as they folded their hands and moved out of Vorik, Tuvok, and the Ambassador entourage’s way. Their hands suddenly then _unfolded,_ smoothing down their custom blend of Vulcan robes and Reclamation Project formal wear... and their augmented hand began to run through the length of their silky black hair.

Hugh allowed them to… settle? _Marinate_ in the Vulcans’ shared victory, Hugh smirking and tilting his head to both V'evik and a clearly-amused Tavek.

“Well,” the Director chimed (and signed in xBSL for Tavek’s solidarity), “that seemed to go smoothly.” 

V’evik swallowed again, nodding as they also signed. “I am-- very _pleased_ that went… _better_ than smoothly, Director.” 

Tavek’s eyebrows rose. “<Pleasantly?>”

“Better.”

Now Tavek’s expression was somewhat bemused. “<You are ‘excited,’ Junction V’evik.>”

“I believe that’s a fair association with the Junction, Tavek; quite right.” 

“ _Neither_ of you are assisting my attempts to maintain emotional control, I hope you are aware.”

Hugh chuckled goodnaturedly. “Don’t have any of the champagne then, V’evik.”

**-2023 HRS-**

For all the political bigwigs he and Hugh were meeting tonight, Geordi was antsy at meeting a simple Cornish doctor and a silver-haired Progenitor xB for a firm handshake with the Director at his side.

Amadeus' wild, dirty-blonde hair bounced with his glasses as he laughed. "The Director and the Captain!" the Doctor sighed, "oh, what an honor!"

"The honor's all ours, Doc," Geordi humored him, taking his hand into a firm shake. "Nice to finally meet the faces behind all those author signatures."

"Horus, my friend," Hugh chuckled, taking the xB's hand in for a shake until they pulled each other in for a hug. "I am so glad you could attend with the Doctor." 

"I revel in the fact I cannot speak for him, Hugh," Horus said, his voice deep and smooth like a 20th century narrator, "but I believe I am confident when I say that my husband and I wouldn't have missed this for much else. It is quite _comforting_ knowing so many attendees have read our works, too." 

"He _means_ ego-boosting," Amadeus teased, "do you know how many copies he's been asked to digitally sign on PADDs tonight?"

"Don't tell _them_ anything unless you're willing to tell _about the Ensign_ who requested you sign the 'borgi--" 

"I will do no such thing!" he retorted, Horus laughing as Geordi held back a snort. "I beg you, Dear, do _not_ embarrass me like this in front of these two distinguished gentlemen..."

"Hey, I nearly embarrassed _myself_ before we took the turbolift here," Geordi offered. "I am _very_ thankful Director Hugh let me know that it was Horus here who was this oh-so-talked-about-husband from your messages, and not someone else I should've known..." 

Amadeus' pale face, somehow, paled even _further_ at his error, and Horus looked to the Englishman with all the fondness in the world. "Did you forget to mention it _again,_ dear..." 

Amadeus muttered out an “oh Christ” beneath his breath, red-flushed cheeks quickly replacing his lost color. “Captain I am _so_ sorry-- you're right, I-- never directly said it in our correspondence, and--”

 _“Don’t_ , don’t- don’t even worry about it, Doctor,” Geordi assured, “like I said; Director Hugh here got me all up to speed. You spend enough time with someone,” he hinted, “you kinda forget not everyone else is in your same headspace.” 

This last line piqued Horus’ curiosity, the xB tilting his head with a raised brow as Geordi smirked from hearing Hugh beginning to chuckle. “Horus, my friend,” the Director hummed, “we have much to discuss- as much as these two Starfleet officers do, I believe. Join me for conversation, please?” 

His eyes, cybernetic green and brown, darted between the two. “If you insist, Director Hugh, I will comply,” Horus played along, turning to Amadeus. “Husband, I will return; enjoy your conversation with the Captain.”

“I… will? What am I missing here, what are you--” 

And Horus shut him up with a quick peck on the lips, Horus’ silver-laced hair wafting out behind him as Geordi watched Hugh trot away with the Discourse Junction.

"Alright I'm _missing_ something here, obviously," Amadeus grumbled, "which is _fascinating,_ but-- augh, if you're certain, Captain, I thank you for accepting my apology; I can't _believe_ I didn't even mention him by name _again,_ that's the _third time now--_ " 

"Completely fine by me, considering what your writings have given my staffers and I here, Doctor," Geordi chimed.  
And then, rolling his tongue against his champagne-tasting lips in a tease, he continued after a pause: "especially between the Director and I."

"You and the-- Director Hugh, you mean--?"

Amadeus looked to Geordi, then over his shoulder to where Hugh had gone, then back to Geordi again.   
And his eyes, still wide, began to crease from crow's feet as his dimples formed in a smile of realization.

"Oh. Oh! Ohhh! Oh _really,_ you and--!" O'Reilly laughed in disbelief, Geordi unable to hold back his own laughter with a bashful "yeah" as he looked down. "Well, that-- makes much more sense, Captain! And you-- wanted to ask _me_ about--!?" 

"I can't exactly talk about this with my supervising Admiral just yet," Geordi admitted quietly with a smile, "we're waiting until after the Project is done to go any sort of 'public.' And considering your work, you seemed like the next best guy to talk to about this, once Hugh filled in the blanks for me. You... write very much from the heart, I can tell. Thank you again for sending me those excerpts; I really do appreciate it." 

Behind his glasses, Amadeus' smile had turned reflective and soft, grinning wistfully into the hundreds of bubbles that popped in his champagne. "I would have given it up for him," the Doctor admitted with a depreciated laugh. "I am only thankful Starfleet's Xenoanthropology Committee review understood my personal context and allowed my papers to still be published. I'm happy with him, Captain, and... it feels like it's been a long time since I've seen a people who so highly value that aspect of personal wholeness." 

Geordi swallowed as his brow creased upwards. "I think I get you, Doctor. And considering _them,_ I get it entirely."

"And for you to have been able to _see_ the Director's very _beginnings_ , who he is _now..."_

"Tell me about it," Geordi humored. "Hugh's a little miracle, that's for sure." 

"A rather _vast_ one, all modern factors considered and compared to 2368." 

Geordi smirked at the quiet chuckle, but his eyes were drawn to the small metal circle in the back of Amadeus' neck. The doctor caught this and, with a knowing smile, nodded to the Captain and gave permission to ask. 

So Geordi, biting his lip and fidgeting with his glass, worked up the nerves to broach a topic he himself had been dancing around: "That's what you... were talking about in your, uh--"

"It is," O'Reilly confirmed, "my own 'second wedding ring,' we like to call it." 

"Can you tell me about it?" Geordi asked, giddy at the prospect of knowing more about this ritual. "What's it like? That link, is it-- initiated multiple times, or just once? You... say 'husband;' is that just since you're human? Or, did you-- have an actual ceremony on Earth?"

Amadeus grinned. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you." 

"I'm an engineer dating a _cyborg;_ how could I _not_ be." 

And Doctor O'Reilly laughed. "How much time do you have to spare me, Captain?"

"For this? For _him?_ Oh, Doctor; as much as you're willing to share."

**-2035 HRS-**

“Tom, just eat the canapé already.” 

“But why is it so _tiny_ , B’Elanna!? Look at this; I’m gonna have to start stuffing extras in Harry’s pockets _too_ at this rate!”

“You can always get _more_ if you want, Tom; I don’t think the xB catering is gonna run out any time soon. And you _better_ not; whatever that glaze is on top is _definitely_ gonna stain my dress uniform’s pockets--”

“Fiiiine… did either of you try this one yet, anyway?”

“No, gimme a bite--”

“Me too; and _then_ you can go get more for us _too_ if I like it--” 

Geordi La Forge smirked as he watched Commander Paris, leaning back against a standing table’s rim, move the canapé to Commander Kim’s lips who first took a bite, and then held it to Captain Torres for her own third of a bite. Both Kim and Torres gave him a peck on the cheek after their respective samples, and Tom finally finished the little thing off with his own hearty chomp as they collectively noticed Geordi approaching. Tom, still chewing, waved hello with his free hand off his glass, Torres bobbed her head with a smirk and raised her pot and rock, and Kim raised his hand in greeting before extending it for a shake. 

“You look nice with Captain’s pips, La Forge,” Torres chided as her husband shook Geordi’s hand. “Good to see you.” 

“Good to see you _and_ put some faces to these two’s names,” Geordi agreed, turning his attention to the Commander. “Kim- great to meet ya.” 

“Pleasure’s all mine for a fellow Starfleet station manager, Captain,” he chimed, moving over so Paris could also shake a hand. “But I’m nothing without the station’s starship captain, much less 158’s XO.”

“Aw, you don’t haveta flatter me, Commander Kim,” Paris humored. “Good to meet you, Captain.” 

“You too, Paris. I saw you checkin’ out the food?”

“Less ‘checking,’” Kim teased, “and more _‘complaining.’”_

“Not about the _quality,_ mind you; it’s all been _delicious_ so far, but the sizes? I feel like I’ve been at a bake sale! Is there a reason?”

“All about functionality, Commander,” Geordi gloated, “and also to do with how xBs are made up. Some of them like Director Hugh don’t even technically _need_ to eat, depending on how long they were in the Collective for, but they can indulge a _little_ bit once their bodies start to acclimate. They have any more than they’re able to and they wind up with the _worst_ cramps, so most xBs that had 5 plus years with the Collective are pretty slim eaters. We made _one_ big pot of cioppino to ring in Captain Crusher’s restock from the _Pasteur_ a month ago, and we practically fed an entire deck!”

"You seem to know your way around these folks pretty well," Harry noted.

“Ah, well- when you live around almost 2,000 of ‘em for three months and are gonna be here for _another_ three, you pick up things here and there. Dietary habits wasn’t one I was expecting to learn, but I'll welcome it anyway."

“2,000?” B'Elanna exclaimed, “I thought I saw there were only 300 Project staffers out here with the 400 Starfleets?”

To the three’s chuckles and “ohhhhh”’s of realization, Geordi jabbed a thumb behind and over his shoulder towards Atlas off in a view port’s distance, the Captain humoring them by pointing out “and we still have about 1,500 to go!”

“No wonder Doc’s been so chipper in his messages,” Paris mused, “he must be having a _field day_ out here.”

“How’s it been at Starbase 158 since the Doctor’s been _here_ , anyway?” Geordi wondered. “Not missing him too much, I hope?”

“The Reclamation Project Medical staffers your Junction Troval recommended intern with us have actually been acclimating pretty well,” Commander Kim noted. “The three of ‘em are species _from_ the Delta Quadrant, and they’re good as pinch-hitter doctors should any of the xBs who live on the station or are coming back from exploratory ventures need medical treatment. I _was_ thinking of offering them long-term tenures, but we’re waiting to go over records with Doc once he’s back home.” 

“That’s not to say we don’t _miss_ him,” Paris offered, pointing with his finger and a glass in hand. “He’s got a way of rapturing xBs and other passersby with stories from the _Voyager_ days.” 

Geordi smirked. “And here I thought you’d _all_ have your own ‘rapturing’ stories from then.”

“‘Rapturing’ is definitely a word for it,” B’Elanna remarked, “but you’re not wrong, Captain.” 

Geordi considered something with a little smirk as he swirled the champagne in his flute. 

“You three are pretty close with him in your own ways- knowing your history together, how he’s talked about you all onsite...” Geordi mused. 

But Tom made a playful face and scoff before Geordi could continue. “He ‘talks’ about us?”

“Only good things. ...Mostly,” Geordi teased in a chuckle. “Misses your kids something fierce, though. If I didn’t know any better he’d seem like their uncle.” 

“John keeps trying to go look for his mobile emitter dock,” Kim said affectionately, “and it doesn’t help that his big sister’s already got that _adventurous_ streak to help him explore the Starbase.”

The group all shared their communal amusement for a quiet beat.

Geordi, for a moment, wondered what that was like. Chasing kids around a Starbase, watching them grow up against the backdrop of space…

_Kids..._

But the Captain avoided that lingering thought with another quick sip of champagne.

“The reason I mention it,” Geordi followed up with, “is… well, I dunno how much the Captain here’s told _you_ two about our situation, or how much the EMH has maybe sent home. But we’re having our own holographic genesis, and I guess as a Project manager I just… would appreciate some advice?” the Captain supposed. “Is there anything _I_ could be doing more for a hologram program coming into existence? Giving him a good environment to flourish in and all that? Pointers? Having the Doctor here I think’s been great so far, but… I dunno. I think we’re doin’ alright, but it never hurts to hear from others who’ve been where you’ve been at, too.”

“Well, _one,_ be thankful he’s not a doctor,” Paris chided. “EMH could get _real_ rigid in those first few months. And _my_ first thought- I don’t know about _you_ two, but… be patient.”

Harry _and_ B’Elanna shot him surprised looks. “I wasn’t expecting that,” Kim prodded.

“Yeah- me neither.”

“You’re both so mean,” Tom sighed playfully. “But I guess I… speak from experience. Hindsight’s 20/20, and-- I wasn’t the most patient with him, sometimes. So give him space to be a person, engage with him like he already _is_ one.”

“Because he _is,”_ Harry followed up with. “He’s just learning based off experience, like we all are. Like how Seven did.”

“Like how _we_ did.”

“Yeah! Y’know, give him a regiment, sure, but let _him_ decide what he wants to pursue. No micromanaging his identity based on what _you_ think is normal. Hell- I didn’t expect a hologram to get into _opera_ as much as Doc did,” Paris chimed, “but his concerts are the talk of the sector now ‘cause of it.”

“Oh, give yourself some credit, Tom,” Harry teased, “you write him some great holodeck sets to perform off of.” 

Geordi watched B’Elanna roll her eyes with a smirk as Tom grinned to Kim. “What can I say, ‘Kincaid,’” the Commander crooned, “I’ve got some great inspiration.”

“He keeps talking about ‘inspiration,’ funny you mention,” Geordi mused, reeling the two’s flirting back in. “Would you say that’s a way you could describe the Doctor in his beginning years?”

“Oh yeah,” B’Elanna assured him. “Just… whatever you do, don’t blow him off if he’s having ‘moment’s of inspiration.’ If they need a moment to vent their emotions? Let ‘em; give programs a place to vent. AIs, holograms, whatever- they may have brains and subroutines that can process a hell of a lot more information than we can, but…”

“Vocalization can be a lot more helpful than _internalization,”_ Geordi concluded. “Right. Been learning that from working with xBs.”

“And don’t get high and mighty around him as an ‘organic,’ either,” Paris remembered, “realize that _you all_ may have something to learn from him, too. Hell, he taught me how to be a nurse! And I went kicking and screaming at the idea of learning something from a _hologram_ , but… I learned how to help heal people, because of it. I helped deliver our daughter thanks to him.”

“Everybody on _Voyager_ owes him their life, in one way or another,” Harry said quietly. “And the only way Doc ever held it over our heads was when he had to tie some of us down in Sickbay, bragged about his medical achievements... because those experiences helped make him who he was. Adding _onto_ that pre-installed medical knowledge.”

Geordi nodded, firming his lips with a bright smile.

“That helps. Thank you. --Really, I mean it,” Geordi said brightly. “I learned what I could from Commander Data, but an engineer’s never really done learning, y’know?” 

B’Elanna tsk’ed and pointed at him with her pot glass and a wink. “You got that right.”

As Geordi mulled over another sip and glanced back out to the observation chamber’s floor, someone caught his eye as the three’s conversation suddenly faded in his attention. A Black woman with a beautifully-gleaming, large headdress was striding towards the bartop, Geordi squinting some to see if it was… yes, it had to be! Those gentle eyes, her gait, the profile he saw all the years he was aboard the _Enterprise..._

Geordi suddenly got an idea, and his eyes (and mind) began to see where Hugh might be hiding. 

Finishing his sip, he raised his flute to the throuple and smacked his lips as he swallowed, stepping backwards and giving a wide grin. “Torres, Paris, Kim,” the Captain chimed, “good seein’ you, I gotta run; I’ll try and catch y’all again before the night’s over-”

Torres raised an eyebrow. “You find someone you were lookin’ for?”

“Oh yeah- invited her special and everything,” Geordi assured. “Have a good night!” 

All three raised their glasses as Geordi began to trot towards back out towards the floor.

Harry leaned back so Tom and B’Elanna could hear him. “ _One_ of us is gonna have to go find Vorik before it gets too late, y’know.”

“If you can pry him from the Vulcan gossip club, last I saw him,” B’Elanna smarmed, “...but I wouldn’t mind catching up. Feel like he genuinely wanted to talk last time I was here.” 

“Time makes better people of us all,” Paris remarked, “... _And_ less horny when Pon Farr’s not involved, _and_ are married to two other guys; who knew.”

B’Elanna lovingly smacked him on the back with Paris barking a playful “Ow!”, and Commander Kim laughed as Tom stood up straighter. “Go get Harry and I some more of those canapés, Tom; that one was tasty.”

“Yes ma’am…” 

“Don’t sound so sad about it.” 

“Lemme take something for the road, then--” 

And stealing two little pecks from his two spouse’s cheeks, Commander Paris whisked off towards the food counter as Harry settled beside B’Elanna, and Geordi continued to bob and weave through the crowd to find a certain Executive Director.

_Now where was Hugh?_

**-2038 HRS-**

Something pulled at his attention from analyzing the floor.  
And upon examination of that something, Hugh knew that Betazoid blast of emotion from anywhere.

"Hey, Hugh!"

With a smirk, Hugh turned to the right and found his Progenitor friend Troval waving to him from a distance, their outfit's white sleeves and collar to indicate the Medical Division's alignment a starkly fashionable choice. With the green Progenitor line hemmed into the layered lapel by their Reclamation Project badge, she stood with the EMH in his own, rather... 'dramatic' Cooperation outfit? His long, cape-like "suit" was a mish-mash of the Starfleet Science blues with the Reclamation Project's pension for geometric designs and draperies, as if he were going to a rather alien opera. Considering the Doctor, this wasn't too radical of a concept, and Troval's scanner of an eye augment glimmered as much as the EMH's Starfleet badge did.

And there was someone else with them. A larger, broad-shouldered man with dark eyes, graying hair draped over his shoulders, an intricate tattoo on his forehead and Commander's pips at his collar...

Of course, it came to Hugh in a recollection of officer profiles. The First Officer of _Voyager_ himself. What a wonderful first meeting he hoped this would be.

But looked as if he _knew_ Hugh already.   
Hugh knew he did not. Not in _that_ way.

> _[And yet he searched?]_

"Troval, my friend," Hugh hummed despite the sensation, "your enthusiasm is contagious."

"And this _champagne's influence_ is, too," the xB doctor laughed as their prosthetic hand clinked against the glass, "oh, I haven't had this much fun giving Medical demos in a _long_ time." 

"The Starfleet personnel seem captivated _enough_ by Junction Troval's deliveries," EMH crooned. "And here they were, thinking to expect some boring physiology lectures."

"Like they're going to get that from _me._ But in any case; Hugh, please," Troval beamed, "EMH has made me familiar with Commander Chakotay, and I knew you _too_ must meet him. Did you know the Commander was also a xenoanthropologist? Perhaps we should introduce him to Doctor O'Reilly- or Horus!"

Chakotay stared at him as Troval made this introduction. Truly, poignantly, _wholly_ stared at him for no more than 3.15 seconds, but Hugh knew this stare well enough. 

> _[Another]_

"Director Hugh," Chakotay said almost reverantly, reaching out his hand for a shake. "It is an honor to meet you tonight. Your speech tonight, was... _incredible,_ to say the least."

"The honor is all mine, Commander," Hugh assured him. "I take that the Doctor and Junction Troval are good company?" 

"Implying as if we are not _already,"_ the hologram teased, "wouldn't you agree, Troval?"

"Oh, very much so. Unorthodox, certainly, but good company nonetheless."

"Agreed. It's always nice catching up with Doc here," Chakotay offered quietly, "and I've had my run-ins with Borg technology before on a personal basis, so it's... nice- getting another perspective from Doctors outside of Starfleet, and all." 

"You flatter us, my dear friend; just as _you_ are a welcome respite from these _very_ inquisitive scientists. Whiiiich _speaking of_ very inquisitive scientists," the EMH crooned, "Troval, my internal chronometer is telling me it's nearly time for--" 

"Our implant integration demo?" they hummed, suddenly slinging back the rest of her glass. "Right; let's go squick out some Lieutenants. Commander Chakotay? A pleasure," the Betazoid told him, the prosthetic shaking Chakotay's hand and broadcasting a wave of genuine happiness. "I hope to see you again." 

"I ah... as do I, Junction. Thank you." 

"I'll see you soon as well, Chakotay." 

The Commander nodded to the hologram with tight lips and watched the two go, Hugh assuming a place beside Chakotay in their absence.

Hugh noticed Chakotay open and close his hand at the feeling of Troval's metal one.

"I _did_ know you were a xenoanthropologist, by the way," Hugh assured the Commander, "I did not want to interrupt my friend for their obvious enthusiasm. It was, among many reasons, I believe an invitation was extended to you."

“I wanted to thank you actually, for that,” Chakotay said quietly, “for the opportunity here, Director. I know it was probably a diplomatic review board thanks to _Voyager’s_ association and all, but--”

“I thank my clarity for inspiring me to seize the opportunity to do so, Commander,” Hugh told him. “As well as the fact Captain La Forge and I were able to request a handful of _personal_ invitations.”

Chakotay turned his head at this. “You mean--”

“Geordi told me the EMH speaks fondly of you, and I was aware of your pursuits as a xenoanthropologist,” Hugh explained. “Your journey with _Voyager,_ whatever impact that may have left on you and whatever your interactions with the Borg were, seems to have had some... _significant_ value.”

Hugh paused, debating if he should vocalize his observations.

“I… _apologize_ if my mentioning of this oversteps a personal boundary, Commander,” Hugh decided to continue, “but I notice you also have the same gaze that the Reclamation Project staffers here have. Moreso than some of the other _Voyager_ crew I know, or have had time to observe.” 

Chakotay was quiet, swallowing as he looked back out over the crowd.

Hugh's eyes were reflective. "You watch us."

“I… _know_ them,” Chakotay murmured. “But then I _don’t._ I wake up-- _thinking_ I’m like them, sometimes. Like _you._ I remember, this--” he motioned with his empty hand, “Romulan medic named Orum, who had an implant as long as his arm- a woman named Riley, the back of her head entirely exo-plating, and I-- was never even physically assimilated, but them, those memories, they-- haven’t gone away. Not even 19 years later. I guess because it was-- _more_ than knowing them. I _was_ them for a moment, and they were _me._ And yet here I am,” Chakotay laughed bitterly, _“wanting_ more. Despite what they did to me, I’ve... never been so sure of anything. Of any other presence. And for someone who’s felt _lost_ a lot of times in my life, I… can’t help but miss that.”

"I have heard things repeated from the EMH and read _Voyager's_ reports of encounters with xBs, but what did more did you--"  
"The neural transceiver link," he said quickly. "They used it _on_ me after healing me with it."

Chakotay took a swig from his glass, and Hugh instantly understood. 

“Apologies, Director,” Chakotay tried to brush off with a quiet laugh. “That was probably more than what you were willing to hear. But I’ve been thinking about it ever since I got your invite.”

Hugh’s organic brow knit upward, and Hugh shook his head with all the empathy he could muster.

“I would be a poor ‘Director’ if I denied an attendee to a Reclamation Project-hosted _gala_ a chance to connect with us,” he told him. "But I believe I understand. It is true that there is a... _safety_ in the Collective,” Hugh felt he could say, “for it is also true that there _is_ safety in numbers. It takes us a very long time to wean off that. And in some ways, the desire to hear that multitude again, or at least, the-- _concreteness_ of another presence, another voice... it never really leaves."

“Do you approve, then?” Chakotay asked. “Of what they did?”

Hugh faltered.   
As if tightening a knot, he grasped onto the faint sensation of hearing Geordi laugh with a few other voices. 

“I don’t know,” he decided, “the Liberated Borg Cooperative of the Alpha Quadrant do not take joy in speaking for, nor _over_ other people’s decisions on how to live, and I will not deny that group in the Delta Quadrant the right their existence. But I _do_ know,” Hugh said in a huff, “that I _do_ _not_ approve of them overwriting your free will to carry out _their own_ , no matter how desperate they may have been at the time. Because from what I gather of the report and what the Doctor has relayed to me personally, I believe there were _other_ solutions available than the assimilationist one they arrived at, but…”

Hugh swallowed. 

“It… befuddles us,” he admitted, “why a group of those _like_ us… would be so _eager_ to smother themselves again in such a hivemind.”

Chakotay tightened his lips. 

“That’s probably the most honest answer you could’ve told me, Director,” the Commander assured him with a tired grin, “and it’s one I accept. Thank you.”

“If you ever feel you need _counseling_ regarding what you spoke of, Commander,” Hugh offered, “I know you would have a welcome place on Ohniaka III. We offer all Reclamation Project services to Starfleet veterans who have had encounters with the Collective.”

Chakotay was quiet.

"Do you... I've been looking for an archeological opportunity since my time on Alpha Centauri is nearly finished," he started, "or-- _anything,_ really. And being here is nice. Is there... anything you can think of that Ohniaka III may be wanting to dig up?"

"Hmm..." 

Hugh thought over a sip.   
And then clarity struck him with an idea.

"How much do you enjoy excavating ship crash sites?" Hugh asked. "Because there has been... _renewed_ interest in collecting and reassembling pieces from Cube 5219's initial landing. It is a project still in early planning, but I would be happy to inquire further into its development and forward you the proper information."

Chakotay looked to him wide-eyed. "Well... that's-- certainly _different_ from ancient civilizations and what I'm typically used to," he mused, still clearly surprised, "but a chance to stay on Ohniaka III for it would be quite something." 

"Something 'favorable,' I hope?" 

The Commander nodded. "I... yes. I'd like to think so." 

Hugh grinned. "Of course. After the Gala, I will establish a correspondence channel between you and appropriate venues, and you are permitted to include my name or request my response in these conversations. May I share your Starfleet contact information?"

"Absolutely. I was-- actually about to go catch up with my old crewmates," Chakotay said, bobbing his head towards a canapé table. "I think this gave me a little something more to talk about with them."

"I hope they are as... excited? 'Enthused' as I am at the prospect for you."

Hugh pondered something with the aid of his processors and heart before he let Chakotay.

"And if I may offer you, Commander," Hugh said quietly, "xBs are bound by the Collective and what we endured in circumstance... but all of us have different _experiences_. We are a people made of many parts, yet find kinsip by one common factor. ...Never think that you are any less one of us," he told Chakotay, "apart of a _community_ by what you went through. I am simply... 'glad,' that you decided to attend tonight."

 _Despite your trauma,_ Hugh thought quietly to himself.

Chakotay's jaw open and shut before he could settle on a response... and finally, he smiled, the Commander ducking his head downwards as he trailed off.

"Thank you, Director."

Hugh rolled his tongue against a barely-constrained smile.   
He wondered if Geordi could, again, feel the hope that felt as if was radiating off him. 

...Actually, Geordi felt-- much _closer_ , now that he reached out--

And that barely-restrained smile now became a full one as he looked up, hearing a--

**-2046 HRS-**

“Hugh!” Geordi called, the Director turning to see Geordi trot towards him with a wide smile and an arm suddenly around his shoulder. “Hugh, I finally found her in all this crowd; come and see Guinan with me--”

> _[Guinan]  
> _ _[ >On guest list]  
> _ _[ >Contextual identification unknown] _

“‘Guinan?’” Hugh as, allowing Geordi to guide him as his eyes looked at him in perplexment. “I recognize this name on the list of attendees, but I do not know if I’ve--”

“Guess you’re not so lonely anymore if you’ve _forgotten_ me, Hugh?”

And that warm, smooth voice made the Director’s face freeze and threw his mind 23 years into the past. 

Hugh whipped his head from Geordi to meet this “Guinan,” his mouth open at an encounter he hardly expected. The el-Aurian’s intricate headwear, the way her face had barely aged since the day she came to his cell in the brig, her eyes that understood the art of listening just as much as Crosis did… this was the woman who enforced his understanding of the word ‘lonely,’ and it took Hugh several moments before he could adequately go searching for words again.

“I… remember you,” Hugh breathed, the Director trying to regain his mental footing. “I apologize, I-- ...do not recall if I actually ever learned your _name_ while I was onboard the _Enterprise.”_

“I’ll be the first to admit that I wouldn’t have been the most willing to _give it to you_ at the time,” Guinan spoke. “But I’m flattered you’ve remembered me, Director. And in turn, I’m thankful for the chance to be here tonight.” 

“O-of course. And it is our honor to host you. I… do not mistake this as me questioning your overall your presence here, but your invite,” he asked, “by what avenue were you--” 

“Thaaat invite may have been a little bit of _my_ doing,” Geordi admitted with a smirk and a poke to Hugh’s shoulder. “Actually, all the _Enterprise-D_ crew, really; we missed Guinan, felt it was right to invite her considering everything we’ve been through, and--” 

_“Aaand,”_ she interrupted with a pointed finger, “I had to see for _myself_ who it was that got Captain La Forge here out of his funk. Considering the _last_ time I saw you, Geordi, you were--” 

“Don’t, don’t, come on,” Geordi said, “I forgot how hard Risan Mai Tais knock it out of me.” 

“Sure. But you look a lot _happier,_ Captain; I’ll say that much.” 

“Well, how about that,” he mused, looking to Hugh with an allowed affection in his eyes, “I am.” 

Hugh's clarity pulled him out of the moment, out of Geordi’s beautiful, cybernetic eyes, realizing they could be very easily recognized as a couple if he continued acting like this. Hugh’s own line of sight now darted between them both, as he--

> _[She smiled]  
>  [She knew?] _

“Go on, Captain,” Guinan spoke, tossing a nod over his shoulder, “I’d like to talk with the Director here for a bit. Looks like you’ve got a group waiting for you, anyway.”

Following her nod, Geordi and Hugh looked in the direction she beckoned, and Hugh felt his face flare as much as Crosis' had earlier in his quarters. A semi-circle of all Captain Worf, Commander Troi, Captain Riker, and Beverly were waving to them, Riker motioning with his hand and mouthing a “come on!” at Geordi particularly. 

Beverly winked at Hugh.

“I’ll be back,” Geordi told Hugh, and then looked to Guinan with a pleading smirk, “Be nice to him.” 

“Now where have I heard _that_ before about Hugh,” Guinan chided. “Get going, La Forge.”

And with a little wiggle of his arm off Hugh’s shoulder, Geordi trotted off towards his friends, Hugh feeling a _myriad_ of words, emotions roiling through him at their revealed affection… but Guinan simply smirked at Hugh and shook her head once he turned back to her, the el-Aurian waving her hand before he could even speak. 

“I’ve known the Captain a long time, Hugh,” she assured him as relief flooded his systems, “ever since he was still ‘ _Ensign_ La Forge.’ I guessed about two and a half minutes into our conversation about you and this Project.” 

Hugh swallowed his worry, feeling spontaneity wriggle his lips at Guinan’s implications. “Geordi has a wonderful way of expressing himself about topics he’s passionate for, doesn’t he.” 

“Seems like you’d know that from experience.” 

“I am merely thankful to be on the _receiving_ end of it.”

Guinan’s grin grew wider. “And _I’m_ just glad you took our resistance conversation to heart.” 

“Heart, mind, body, and dare I even say _soul.”_

He felt her watch him- truly _watch_ him, just as poignantly as Crosis could. 

And Hugh began formulating a possible scenario in a combination of microcalculations and thoughts.

“I’m right though, aren’t I,” Guinan mused. “Looking around and seeing what you’ve built… you’re not so lonely anymore, are you.” 

“Not at all,” the Director agreed with a shake of his head, “Geordi in my life notwithstanding. It-- took a great deal of effort to arrive at this point, as I said earlier, but as… _much_ as I loathe the original phrase, Captain La Forge utilized it quite perfectly in his speech. ...We are a people built on ‘resistance,’” Hugh offered, “and resistance naturally implies effort to work towards that place of united community.” 

Guinan smirked. “What you’re saying, then, is that you’re _‘stubborn.’”_

Hugh mimicked her smirk. “That is an appropriate descriptor.” 

“Hmhm.” 

She firmed her lips. 

“Wonder how much of that stubbornness is from _my_ people.” 

Hugh reached the end of pondering that scenario in his processors, manifested by the way he rolled his jaw in thought… and Hugh looked back to her, straightening his shoulders for the bartender who once came to glimpse his germinating personhood.

“There is someone I would like for you to meet, Guinan,” Hugh began, “if you would allow me a similar exchange as to what Geordi has now done.”

Guinan looked at him expectantly. 

“The man who stood at my side tonight… _besides_ Geordi,” Hugh told her with a humored grin, “is a man who I love deeply as a friend, a comrade in the Reclamation Project’s mission... and is also _el-Aurian_ , too. ...You told me, 23 years ago, that your people were ‘scattered,’ that there were ‘very few of them left…’ and if both you _and_ Crosis are the people you are despite that forced diaspora,” Hugh continued, “I would be honored to help make the galaxy feel a little less… ‘immense.’ A little less ‘lonely.’”

As much as Guinan had watched Hugh, he now watched _her_ as she absorbed the offer, the woman’s fingers rubbing the stem of her glass. Hugh sensed the factual observations, of course; his visual UI picked up Guinan’s elevated heart rate, escalating brainwaves, and his keen vision caught her swallow nothing but air and nerves. But his empathy sensed something stirred deep within Guinan, as deeply as she had spoken with him over two decades ago, and Hugh _continued_ to watch her as the hundreds of bubbles in her flute rose and pop into nothingness.

“‘Crosis…’” she mused, almost as if seeing how she liked to say his name. “Not an el-Aurian name if I’ve ever heard one.” 

Hugh grinned. “It was one he chose himself. For _appropriate_ circumstances, mind you, and I won’t spoil its origin in favor of allowing an el-Aurian to share that story, since I am aware of how highly your people value oral history.”

Though she still looked down, Guinan's smile began to brighten.

“How long have you known him?”

“That is always a difficult question for xBs to answer. But I have known Crosis as _himself_ since he helped me brace for impact as Cube 5219 fell to Ohniaka III, and he now serves as my Director Second and the Consultation Division’s Supervising Junction.”

“‘Consultation?’”

“The closest institution the Reclamation Project has to a Starfleet Counselor’s Office or ‘Mental Health department,’” Hugh explained. “Our Medical Division heals, our Engineering Division innovates, our Cybernetics Division repairs, creates… and the Consultation Division listens. Even 23 years later, Crosis makes for a very good listener.”

“And what do _you_ do, Hugh?”

“Oh, a little bit of everything,” he admitted. “It would not be wise for a supposed ‘Director’ to fall out of touch with that he supposedly ‘executively directs.’” 

“No,” Guinan agreed. “No, it wouldn’t.”

Hugh allowed her to ponder his offer a little longer.

“I... _would_ like to meet this man, if that’s alright,” Guinan asked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen another of my people, Hugh. ...Much less one freed from the Borg and in a peaceful state of mind.” 

Hugh smiled. “It would be my honor. And-- Guinan, before I call him, I--” he mentioned, and oh, how quickly he had to look for words, “… thank you. --For your willingness to speak to me during that time of my life. I know it must have been difficult, considering context and the situatio--” 

“It’s alright, Hugh,” Guinan assured, her voice warm and her eyes reflective. “I’m glad I did. ...Your boyfriend made a good enough argument for you, at the time.”

This surprised him, _alongside_ the blush he felt from That word. “You mean-- Geordi was the one who told you to speak to me on the Enterprise?”

“Less ‘told,’” she noted, “and more ‘convinced.’ I’d been thinking about going down and getting a look at you myself a couple hours before he came in all torn up about how you ‘gave him your eye’ and everything.”

> **`[` ** **`Ge o r di! G eo r wha ` ** **`]` **

And to avoid the ache in his chest the more he dwelled on Guinan’s implication, Hugh realigned himself with a determined grin in lieu of plain-faced love. 

“Director Second Crosis,” Hugh called with a plap to his badge, “where are you; may I bring you a guest I wish to introduce you to?” 

_“I am on the ground floor; Section 5,”_ Crosis replied. _“Atlas is with me; is that permissible?”_

“Acceptable by _my_ parameters,” Hugh noted, “we shall see regarding our guest. We will be there in one minute, 13 seconds by my predictions.”

_“Understood, Director.”_

“‘Atlas?’” Guinan repeated once the feed cut, “That name _is_ a coincidence for this Project, right?” 

Hugh smiled. “I will merely hint that I am… ‘excited,’” he settled on, “to see what other stories you exchange _besides_ Crosis’ Namesake.”

* * *

**-2048 HRS-**

Geordi La Forge, armed with a freshly-topped flute of synthehol champagne he plucked from a drone, approached the semi-circle of friends with a well-amused frown. 

“I just can’t get _rid_ of you all tonight, can I--” 

Will scoffed with a roll to his eyes. “Oh, well- whenever we can pull you away from ogling your _boyfrie--”_

Geordi gave a hard “shh!” with a finger to his fellow Captain, smirking to everyone else as Worf gave a vexed huff. “You talk about it any louder and I’m gonna get an _Admiral_ paying a _Ferengi journalist_ to do an investigative report on us.”

“ _Guinan_ certainly seemed intrigued to meet him again, after all these years.”

“I felt a _little_ bad, at first; apparently he never got her _name_ when she talked to him so he was a bit confused for a minute,” Geordi admitted, “but they seemed to be hitting it off when I left.”

“Well: just know that _Kestra_ also wants to know all about who _Uncle Geordi_ is dating,” Troi pointed out lovingly. “She was asking if you lived aboard the Sphere together before we left.” 

Geordi couldn’t resist a chuckle at that. “The hull’s gettin’ a little more familiar every day, but Ohniaka III wouldn’t be that bad of a place to settle down, honestly. The sky reminds you of Vulcan, if it had a bit more pink and green in it.”

Now Beverly tilted her head with a smirk. “‘Settle down?’” she hummed, “my, Geordi; you’re just as excitable as you were on the _Enterprise._ ”

“Ugh- we are _not_ talking about Brahms, please and thank you--”

“Have you even taken the time to write anything yet?” Worf asked. “It is imperative you write down and make plain your intentions to another man before you proceed further.”

“I’m-- gettin’ there!” Geordi insisted, “I’ve been busy with _that guy of a ship_ out there, if you haven’t noticed! But I _am_ gonna need a proofreader, Worf; I may end up giving you a call when I start…”

“That is a highly personal affair.” 

“Awh, well; you’re a highly personal _friend,_ how about that.”

Worf tried to stifle the flattery as Riker offered a grin and spoke up. “You got any Shore Leave saved up?”

“A whoooole month of it, once this project’s done and we get everything settled at Ohniaka III and San Francisco.”

“Got any places you’re thinkin’ of?”

“He’s never really _been_ to San Francisco beyond Starfleet HQ, and I offered to show him around to some local hot spots. Might spend a week there, maybe two… and I think he’s pondering taking me around Ohniaka III a little more. I’ve _been_ there and all, sure, but it’s kinda like him with SF.”

“I’m shocked you haven’t said Risa yet,” Crusher crooned.

Geordi winked. “Who said either of our places were gonna last a whole two weeks.” 

Their conversation lasted for a comforting while, Geordi soaking in the presence of his friends and sharing stories of what they’d all been up to these past few months. While video calls and hologram chats were all nice and fun, there was nothing quite like hearing Riker laugh with his whole chest, feeling the faint flurry of emotional exchanges with Troi, or witnessing Crusher coo over something Worf did that made him puff up and sink into his shoulders like an embarrassed, beloved bird. While Crusher talked about how she prepared her staff to log down the Medical Division's infographic demonstrations tonight, Geordi noticed Riker looking beyond his shoulder, Captain La Forge frowning and tilting his head to the _Titan’s_ Captain.

“What’s got your eye, Will?”

“Couple of Reclamation Project staffers,” Will said, extending his hand with that typical Riker “come on over” motion. “You know them?” 

Geordi turned around, and suddenly he saw Five and Two of Ten. At noticing Riker’s physical invitation, they looked back to one another, deciding whether or not to accept….

“Oh hey!” he exclaimed, waving brightly to the xBs across the way. “Yeah- Junction Five there’s actually the Engineering Division _lead_ for the Project’s side of things,” he pointed, “and Two’s a Relay in Engineering, but she’s also a kind-of security officer. Faction pacifism and all.” 

“That seems unwise, considering the hostility that certain groups can _display_ to xBs.” 

Geordi puffed his cheeks in a sigh. “It might be, but you should see ‘em _hit_ someone with one of those batons they got- not to mention how good at combat they inherently are or _can_ be...”

Riker followed him. “Best offense is a good defense’ and all?”

Geordi tsk’ed. “ _There_ we go.”

The women arrived at the five’s little huddle, and they were both their own radiant sights for the Gala. For Geordi, it was rare to see Five out of her headwrap collection; with box braid extensions interwoven with silver and gold fibers, a bundle of her hair’s body was tied loosely into a bun in the back, the remnants of Five’s implants extra polished to compliment her asymmetrical, black-gold-silver dress that had a scaled sleeve running down to her assimilation tubules. Two, several centimeters shorter than her partner, had her black hair in a bob and wore a turtleneck undershirt with a cloaked jacket, the typical geometric stylings of Cooperation fashion shining just as brilliantly as both her and Five’s Reclamation Project badges.

In a quick glance, Geordi noticed they had the same... indents? Implants on the back of their necks that Amadeus and Horus had, even Two’s turtleneck cut in such a height that it was designed for others to see. 

“Junction Five, Relay Two,” Geordi chimed in a welcoming tone, “taking a gander at some old _Enterprise_ folks for evening sightseeing?”

“We were-- debating on whether or not to approach you all, Captain,” Five admitted, nodding to everyone in the semi-circle. “It was good to meet you all last night at the Captain’s promotion. This is my wife, Two of Ten.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Troi crooned, taking Two’s offered hand for a gentle shake. “Captain La Forge speaks highly of you both.”

“Thank you, Commander Troi,” Two breathed with wide and bright eyes. “It has… been a long time since we have seen this many Starfleet officers gathered in one place for such an occasion.” 

“‘Since?’” Riker noted, “Implying this isn’t your _first_ time…”

“We once both held the title of ‘Lieutenant,’ Captain Riker,” Five told them, “in a life much different than this. Since our Reprisals in 2386, we have found new lives in the Reclamation Project, and… _unearthing_ those former memories is a long, eternal process in comparison to our current existence. ...But while I cannot speak for my wife, I believe we remember enough.” 

“Like our Academy Graduation?” 

Geordi watched Five smirk fondly at Two’s comment.

“Yes.” 

“You both were observing us,” Worf pointed out, Beverly’s shoulders deflating some at Worf’s beloved bluntness. “What were you intending to look for from the Captain.”

“Now Worf,” Geordi sighed, “don’t--” 

“No, Captain,” Two interjected, “he is right. And we found it… convenient?”

Two motioned her along: “Helpful.”

“ _Fitting,”_ Five settled on, “that you were all together. ...Many voices can expand an opinion through individual expansion, and we felt you best to answer our predicament considering your history as Starfleet officers.”

Geordi turned back to them expectantly, and the whole group waited for their question.

“We happened to notice, at this Gala,” Two followed along with, “or… _see_ , that-- a certain Commander is attending tonight. And we were debating whether or not to… visit with him? ‘Reintroduce ourselves,’ if this makes sense.” 

“How so?” Troi asked gently. 

“The Commander we seek, or… _debate_ reacquainting with,” Five huffed, “was formerly the chief engineer of the _USS Lalo._ One of Starfleet’s first losses at, ah--” 

“Wolf 359,” Riker finished for her. “I remember that day very well.” 

Five swallowed. “Correct.”

Crusher looked to them wistfully. “There weren’t many survivors from the _Lalo,_ from what I recall...”

“Only 10,” Two told them, “out of a 236-capacity freighter cruiser. ...12, if you include _us.”_

Geordi nodded as his friends began to understand Five and Two’s implication. “I would. We _all_ would.”

Five smiled at him particularly. “We do not know Commander Saril Otun’s new placement within Starfleet… but we-- don’t know _when_ we would cross paths with him again, should we neglect this opportunity for a rendezvous. Most of the _Lalo’s_ crew was assimilated before those 10 had a chance to flee in escape pods, and the Collective by that point deemed the escapees irrelevant as individuals to assimilate. And-- considering, the- _memories,_ the _violence_ from that day and what we endured,” Five explained, “it is...” 

“Complicated,” Crusher finished for her. “I believe we can understand, Junction. ...At least a little.”

Five firmed her lips in a tight grin at the kindness in Crusher’s voice. 

“Were you close to him?” Riker asked.

“I, worked under him as an engineer,” Five admitted, “and Two was an extremely diligent security officer.”

“ _Just_ an engineer?” Two boasted, “she was second in supervision to _all_ computer-hardware functions and was considered for the role of future Chief Engineer, should at-time Lieutenant Commander Saril ever leave the _Lalo_.”

Crusher smirked at Two’s bragging for her wife’s sake. “It seems you _do_ remember enough.”

“Indeed. But it is, still… hard for us,” Two admitted, “and we are… different from how we were then. In more ways than one. So we were wondering if-- any of you _knew_ him?”

Geordi thought, pondered, tried to see if he could remember… and had to shake his head, the rest of the group doing so too amidst murmurs and slight frowns. 

“Then we shall abstain,” Five said quietly as Two nodded. “Thank yo--”

“Now hold on,” Riker interjected, “throwing in the towel, just like that?”

The two xBs tilted their heads at him and the metaphor, Geordi sighing as he filled in the contextual gaps. “What my fellow Captain _means,”_ Geordi offered, “is this is a Gala for a _reason._ If you wanna re-meet him, get acquainted again? This is the perfect place to do it; especially for Starfleet folks already in the moment and the mindset for meeting and networking. And I think I can say for _everyone_ here, that… we’d be willing to help you.” 

“I sense you both wish to reach out,” Deanna assured, “truly. Earnestly. And you should not deny yourselves those feelings of desire for a connection.”

“Wolf 359 was a hardy battle,” Worf grumbled. “It would be _honorable_ if he recognized you both survived, and are _prospering_ despite it. You have won nothing if you do not seize upon the opportunity to declare your victory in livelihood.”

Geordi was happily impressed by that. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Worf.” 

“But we won’t make you go over there without some… pre-amble, I guess would be the word,” Riker said. “Can either of you get a good look for me in the crowd? Spot him at all from here?”

Two and Five were looking at each other, as if mentally debating whether or not they should comply… and Geordi meandered a bit closer to Five. “We won’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do,” he said quietly, “but you’ve helped me and worked hard enough on this Project. _Both_ of you, of course, but… we all gotta take chances, right? And I wanna help you how I can, if you feel this helps… add onto you as individuals.”

Geordi watched Five stare at him with that same, beautiful, poignant xB stare he’d seen so often for three months… and finally, she nodded, putting a hand on Two’s shoulder as her cybernetic eyes scanned the crowd. Not ten seconds later, she pointed: “There; 11.73 meters away. The balding man, Bajoran, darker skin, greying mustache; 178 centimeters tall, Commander’s Pips, green eyes and wearing Operations stripes.”

“Wish _I_ could do that at these kinds of parties… thank you, Five. You all, stay here; Geordi,” Riker said with a point as he began to lumber off, “I’ll comm ya--”

“Right-o, Captain.”

“Bring me another flute when you come back, please!” Deanna called lovingly, “thank youuu!” and Geordi watched Two and Five’s eyes follow Will as made his way towards their old Commander. With a gentle “Hey,” he brought their attention back, Two and Five trying to swallow hidden nerves.

“I trust him to speak well of you both; Will makes a great icebreaker. ...Ah, shit, that’s-- you wouldn’t--”

“I actually _remember_ that metaphor, Captain,” Five said. “And… we appreciate it. Appreciate _him.”_

“Now, while _he’s_ off doing _that,”_ Crusher hummed to the group, “I want to hear _all about_ these Klingon ambassadors you were talking about, Captain La Forge.”

“Yes,” Worf agreed, “I am surprised Director Hugh and his Director Second were able to subdue House of Koloth representatives.”

Two and Five looked surprised. “Is _that_ why Director Second Crosis was in Sickbay when the _Louis Michel_ visited?” the Junction asked.

Geordi chuckled. “Oho, Junction, Relay; I had a front row _seat_ to it.” 

After a handful of minutes of, indeed, boasting about his boyfriend and his fighting prowess, Geordi’s combadge chirped, and Five and Two instantly went wide-eyed. 

_“Captain Riker here; Geordi, you copy?”_

“I’m here, Will,” Geordi said with a plap to his chest, “what can I do for you?”

 _“Why don’t you bring along our two guests,”_ he said with a natural confidence, _“Commander Saril here is interested to see who it could be.”_

Geordi’s smile grew from seeing everyone’s reactions: Troi and Crusher smirked right at one another, Worf puffed his chest out in approval… and Five took Two’s hand and rubbed it in her own, the couple taking a deep breath before looking back to Geordi.

He bounced on his heel. “We’ll be by in a bit, Captain Riker. Over and out.” 

“Good luck you two,” Crusher spoke. 

“I know Will has probably alluded _wonderfully_ to you already.” 

Worf, frowning and looking downwards, raised his glass in respect to the xB pair. 

And Geordi led the two women where his glance caught Riker talking with Commander Saril Otun. A Bajoran man about his height, his head was near bald except for the nearly-silver hair that rimmed his ears and back of his head, a Bajoran earring dangling on an ear that had what Geordi suspected to be a phaser nick. His mustache was full and his eyes were lined with crow’s feet, Otun’s sunken jaws seeming as if he’d seen his fair share of near-warp core breaches and Jeffries Tube spelunkings. And once Riker looked up in Geordi’s direction to hear them approaching, the formerly calm glance of the Commander melted into wide, almost awestruck eyes, darting between the two women as Geordi sensed Five and Two slow in their steps...

“Ah- there they are,” Riker swung his arm open to, “thank you again for your escort and company, Captain La Forge.” 

“Happy to do so, Captain Riker. Commander Saril,” Geordi alluded, “these two are, ah… well, I hope introductions can speak for themselves.”

“Captain La Forge,” the older man murmured, “yes, I… grand to-- meet you in person after your speech tonight, but I…” 

Geordi, very quickly, scooted to Will’s side to allow them some space. 

“Captain Riker--” Saril swallowed, “was-- very gracious in alluding to you, but… Prophets save me,” he stammered, “both of you? Kahyin, I-- or no, you’re- I’m so sorry--”

“It’s alright, Commander Otun,” Five insisted with a tightened jaw and her brow creasing upwards. “It’s… considering our context, that is… that’s acceptable. I’ve changed, _Two_ has changed, and we did not speak our deadnames to the Captains. It is…” Five inhaled through a shaky voice, “very, _very_ good to see you alive, Sir.”

“Agreed, Commander,” Two breathed, still holding Five’s hand. “Five and I apologize, we-- wanted to ensure our presence wouldn’t… upset or _affront you_ in any way, or--”

“Possibly,” Five continued, nodding along with Two, “ _trigger_ any unfortunate memories for you, considering the _Lalo’s_ fate _.”_

“No,” Saril assured. “No, I-- understand. Thank you.” 

The Bajoran looked between them, the old man’s mouth quivering under his plump mustache and his eyes already puffy. Saril glanced between their faces, their clasped together hands, the way Five so gracefully led them both, their rings… and he nodded his head, smiling wide as he looked to Five in particular.

“Not even the _Borg_ could get rid of that crush you spent _how_ many night shifts gushing to me about, I see.”

Five swallowed, barely holding back tears by the look of it. “The Reclamation Project found us both in the same tertiary in 2386. We… _joke_ , somewhat, that we were stubborn in our assimilation. ...To let go, of-- certain things.”

“And look at you now, Five,” he said wondrously, “guiding your own _entire_ Division away from a new home together, and this one right at your side.”

Saril paused.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled suddenly, holding a hand to shake them with, “I’m sorry; where are my manners, I…”

Saril put his other hand in a fist over his mouth, it shuddered, his old eyes creased as he reached for Five’s hand to shake it... and he could not help himself when he barely took it, gave a gasp behind that fist, and suddenly swept the Junction and Relay into as best a hug as he could.

“I… came to this tonight,” he shuddered, “for closure. T-to hope, that-- time might mend things. Make new things out of-- what the _Lalo_ fell to. ...And it did,” Saril laughed, “it did. You both look beautiful tonight… and you make an old man very, very proud.” 

Geordi swallowed, looking down to his dress shoes. 

He sniffed. 

Suddenly, Riker bumped Geordi’s hip; he looked up to see Will motioning his head to the side… and the Captains nodded at each other, both of them bowing some and giving one more soft “Commander, Junction, Relay” before taking their leaves with grace.

Geordi rolled his jaw as he contemplated what to even say after that.

But Riker spoke before he could. “It makes a bit more sense to me now, Geordi.” 

The Captain wiped the underside of his eye. “What does, Will?”

“Why you like working out here. Why you and Hugh click so well. ...You always had a knack for bringing people together,” Riker mused, “people who seemed the world apart, but were actually… closer than what anyone would expect. I mean-- look at you and Data. And you, being out here-- giving Starfleet resources to those who need it? To people, after being taken by the Borg, and spat back out like they were nothing? That’s… yeah. I can see it.” 

Geordi smiled. 

“Thank you for helping make that happen in the _first_ place, Will.”

He scoffed. “Please; Deanna’s just rubbed off on me, that’s all.” 

“Yeah, well- love does that to people, I’m finding.”

“What,” he humored, plucking a fresh glass of bubbles from a nearby drone, “gets them more champagne flutes?”

Geordi smirked again. “That’s _one_ way to prove my point.”

* * *

**-2139 HRS-**

“How d’you think it’s going, Director?”

“Well, you have more _experience_ in this than I do, Captain,” Hugh murmured quickly with a tilt of his head, “but all things _immediately_ observed and considered, very well. So far I have only corrected _five_ Starfleet officers and _three_ ambassadors from calling xBs ‘drones.’”

Geordi huffed. “That number _should_ be zero,” he complained, “it was in the debrief packet and everything…” 

“I find, in the clarity of individuality, that _some_ things are best learned through experience,” the Director offered. And with a smirk, he added: “besides: it’s quite… empowering? Confidence-boosting, _rousing_ to be the one to _correct_ them and have the _authority_ to do so. It must be humbling to inadvertently insult someone in their own home and then be immediately corrected upon such.”

Geordi felt a smirk wriggle at the corner of his lips as he looked to Hugh at his side, the Director beginning to reach halfway on his champagne flute.

“How many of those you had?” 

Hugh scoffed. “This is my _second_ , and drinks for xBs have been set to _lower synthehol levels;_ leave me be.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re getting _residually_ bubbly from all the energy in here,” Geordi chuckled; and in a quieter voice, continued: “besides; I still have that surprise waiting for you in my quarters…” 

“Am I to deduce it’s something to do with a further intoxicant, then?” 

“Mmmmhm; and I’m not saying _anything_ other than it’s _actual_ alcohol.”

“How ‘fancy,’ I believe would be the appropriate word.” 

Geordi imagined himself doing a kissy face _very_ hard in Hugh’s general ‘mental direction’… and the Captain laughed aloud when he saw the xB squint with a playful frown back at him. “Don’t take advantage of that.” 

“You like it.”   
“Perhaps I do.”   
“I _know_ you do, Director.”

“Are you two _ever_ going to get out there...?” 

Geordi turned in synch with Hugh to see Crusher approaching with a smirk on her face and a champagne flute in hand, the men all smiles and chuckles as the Captain of the _USS Pasteur_ sauntered towards them.

“Come on Bev,” Geordi protested, “we gotta wait for the right ‘tango-tangential’ song, y’know--”

“Indeed; the routine we have practiced is flexible enough for a wide variety of musical tempos, but it is one we must _agree_ on.” 

“You’re indulging your date’s _engineering_ side, Hugh; I hope you know that.” 

“I am finding I quite _enjoy_ indulging Captain La Forge, Beverly.”

The three lost themselves in frivolous conversation for a small while until Beverly hushed and let the two carry on with a new song starting up, Geordi noting that this was a rather old Earthen song for an xB DJ to select at random. That voice, even despite the mixing, Geordi sensed that sounded familiar... the intro, it--

“Sinatra[[!](https://soundcloud.com/rufi-o/lean-martin)]” Geordi chimed, “wasn’t expecting him to show up tonight, that’s… ooo. Like what your DJ is doing, Director.”

“It is… certainly a fitting mix,” Hugh noted, “from what I can sense of the beginning, it would…” and the Director's eyes began to wander off, as if thinking of something... 

The edge of Geordi’s sight caught Beverly smiling behind a sip. 

Geordi looked at her. 

She _continued_ to hide behind her glass. 

_Oh my god._

“Bev did you-- _request something_ for us?”

Hugh turned now to the two, his eyes wide and darting between them as Captain Crusher wiggled in place. “Mmmaybe…” 

Hugh slung the rest of his flute back, Geordi’s heart rate shot through the roof as he fiddled with the stem of his glass… And suddenly, playfully, Beverly plucked their flutes away with a “Gimme,” her fingers expertly spidering three empty glasses as she began to turn and head towards the nearest drink attendant. 

“Have fun.”

As she continued to walk away, they could only gape at her until she motioned with her head mouthing a “Go, go!”, Geordi turning back to Hugh… and he saw the xB had his hand out, swallowing and keeping up every professional façade he could muster. 

“Shall we, Captain?” 

The jaunt out to the small, thankfully crowded floor was electrifying for the Captain, his skin suddenly on fire as Hugh's biochip coupling on his wrist brushed against his hands, and oh Lord, dancing with so many people around was suddenly _nervewracking,_ this was a _horrible_ idea. As the two found their footing and Hugh took his hands in beat with the song, Geordi took a breath- trying to steady himself... and he remembered the conversation he had with Amadeus about that link. 

Because heavens help him, the Captain needed some calming clarity right now.

> _“Think of it not as a 'messenger application,' Captain, but as... sharing. A melding. A new center of a vortex made from two separate bodies that twists and turns and mixes in on itself; constantly adapting and trading and sharing. Almost like… two binary stars. And the more faith an xB has in another to share that space with them, that space of-- ‘individuality’ they worked so hard on, then… you have something quite special on your hands.”_
> 
> **`[ c h a s te wo n de r ful o n ly f or n o w ]` **

The song turned out to be perfect. The speed, the tempo, the balance; the two flowed perfectly in time with the music, Geordi happy to be led in routine by Hugh’s xB-capable memorization and value of spontaneity. The Captain could tell that Beverly had thought about this song to _some_ extent, maybe flipped through some of her own favorites for her special friends… and he couldn’t care who was watching because of it, could hardly care what Captain or Commander or Rear Admiral may be gossiping about the project co-managers’ shared dance. 

“They might put this in history books, y’know,” Geordi murmured under his breath as their legs rounded for a combined side-step, “or a biography; ‘managers of the first joint Federation-Cooperation project having a dance together’ and all-”

“Good,” Hugh affirmed. “How fitting it be between the Alpha Quadrant’s first xB and the very Captain who pulled him from ignorance. Harmony among two factions has to have its beginnings _somewhere,_ Captain.” 

Geordi tried his damndest not to laugh. "You can talk _so_ much while you're dancing, it's kinda impressive." 

"Ah, well; you can shut me up all you like later."

Geordi's eyebrows rose along with his smirk. 

_Little shit._

* * *

**-2236 HRS-**

As the last of the Demos concluded and guests were heading back to their ships, shuttles, and appropriate quarters after the long night, Geordi relished in the decreasing volume by absently stargazing on a first floor window. His mind was swirling from both dance, all the conversations, the champagne... but also the fact that, despite correcting a few unruly officers, everything had gone _right._ The last time he'd gone to a party like this, it had followed with his heart in ruins and his husband dead in space. At this point, Geordi half-expected to have... he didn't know-- _Q_ come crashing in on an asteroid in knight's armor, a _Borg cube_ hit the Juggernaut with a cutter beam, maybe even _Romulans_ attack and come looking for "salvage" to store in that ghoulish "vault" he'd heard so many rumors about... 

A tug, suddenly, began to pull Geordi from these thoughts. 

And his mind let itself be tugged and traded with whispers, emotions, and flashes of words in a sensation he was growing more comfortable with each and every day.

> **`[ s ta y ]` **

"I'm liking this, you know," Geordi admitted, hearing Hugh's even, lock-steady footsteps approach him from behind.

"Are you?" Hugh mused with a light smile. "I take it your talk with Amadeus was enlightening, then?"

"Very much so. But I think I'd like it just as much even if I _hadn't_ talked to him. He gave me some context, sure, but it's like I told you last night," Geordi explained, "or even like I told him just now. I'm an engineer with an xB. I'm a guy who likes watching people learn about things. Learn about the world and themselves as a result. That... context."

"Context with knowledge is one of the _truest_ forms of wisdom, after all," Hugh sighed. "It makes sense I work so well with such a wise man."

Geordi tsk'ed. "Takes one to know one. And I'd... _missed_ having someone in my life."

"Thank you for letting me be here."

The Captain and Director were silent in their shared smiles.

"We did it, Hugh."   
"I am at a loss for words, Geordi."   
"They'll talk about this in San Fran for a long time."  
"I wonder how my people will record this Gala in our _own_ history." 

"If they need some firsthand testimonials," Geordi cooed, "I'll be happy to give my own." 

"Rest assured, Captain. You already have a beloved place in the Cooperation's history... and that says nothing of my own." 

The Captain had to stifle his lips and hold back bleary eyes... until Geordi's PADD vibrated with a civilian message notification in his pocket. 

Frowning, he reached for the PADD that had interrupted their moment, lit the screen, and any hint of irritation went straight out the Grand Observation Chamber's windows. 

_Oh, Will._

Hugh watched him. "What is it?" 

Without another word, the Captain turned the PADD to the Director, showing him a message from **[CPT. WILLIAM T. RIKER]** onscreen... and its only message body was a photo of him and Hugh taken from somewhere far off, where the light from the system's sun shone beautifully on them, and Geordi realized this was the first picture someone had taken of them like this since their relationship began.

Hugh smiled, seemingly reminding himself to pull his analytical attention away from where Riker and co. might be hiding, and back up to Geordi. 

The xB raised his glass.

"To _continued_ enlightenment, realization..." 

"And Reclamation?" 

Hugh smiled. 

And their glasses clinked together against the sun's golden light- just as they had three months earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit THANK YOU BEACH for such an amazing rendition of them off one of my favorite leyendecker paintings of all time, check out her art for more hugh art thank you !!! https://twitter.com/beachsandal720/status/1346532338767826945


	20. pleasing, pt. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've already been to the party. Now let's have some fun at the afterparty, shall we? 
> 
> Also, maybe: take a walk down memory lane.
> 
> 18+ NSFW Readings: Beyond Thunderdome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 18+ CONTENT AHOY YOU FREAKS turn back now if this doesn't strike your fancy!!! || okay NOW we're really kind-of breaking until i get this website going. no more than like a month but still, head's up || HEY REMEMBER THAT THING HUGH MENTIONED ALL THE WAY BACK IN CHAPTER 14 ??? OOOHHHHHOHOHOHOHOHO YAHOOOOO || THIS IS A DOUBLE UPDATE so go check the gala out if you missed that!!! || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 27, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS  
[AUTHORIZED ENHANCED PRIVACY PROTOCOLS ENGAGED: NO ENTRY PERMITTED UNLESS YELLOW AND/OR RED ALERTS DECLARED]**

Captain La Forge held his wine up against his quarters’ view of _Solstice's_ sun, swirling the Bordeaux blend as it left a thick ring behind from his gentle motions. 

_You can always tell how much alcohol wine has in it by the way it clings to the glass,_ he remembered Picard telling everyone in his Ready Room. S _ynthehol; it doesn’t catch against the glass like alcohol does. See here? The thickness, the aroma, the pungency… I’ll bet this is at_ least _a_ _15%._

Picard may have been a lot of things once, when Geordi was still a Chief Engineer aboard the _Enterprise-D_. Picard may be a lot of things _now_ , in the wider and aged eyes of Starfleet nowadays.   
But for all his faults, as complex as they were and layered as his history was... the retired Admiral certainly made a damn good winemaker. 

Geordi smirked as he took another sip, smacking his lips against the potent tannins and the richness of the full-bodied wine.

Against all odds, against _all ludicrous happenstances_ that could happen in Starfleet… tonight had shockingly, surprisingly, and _thankfully_ gone well. No attempted assassinations, no poisonings of an Ambassador, no Id-related shenanigans or manipulations; no ill-willed guests trying to sneak in, and no-one reported missing, injured, or intoxicated out of the Command Juggernaut’s 2,187 final attendee count. Even the dedicated “party floor” on Deck 4 of _Solstice_ kept it together, from what he heard; while it got rowdy in its own way and the hall was lined with extra drones to help clean up possible drink spillage, the only affront was that it smelled like Earthen weed and dried Andorian rosehips from two decks up, Geordi wondering how many Starfleet uniforms were gonna show up late for their shifts tomorrow.

In the grand scheme of things, that was fine. One tardy shift hardly outweighed the relief that continued to sink in for Captain La Forge, his head lolling back against his quarters’ desk chair headrest as his eyes fluttering shut to bask in the sun’s light. His praises were definitely going in his report filings tomorrow, and a part of Geordi supposed he ought to extend special dossier commendations to all his Starfleet personnel for the “impressive achievement of helping further positive relations with Reclamation Project in diplomatic allotments,” or something like that. Ensigns and Junior Lieutenants waking up to beaming additions onto their records was always better than keeping them fearful under an iron fist of faceless judgment, and Geordi mused that positive encouragement would keep work going smoothly these next three months.

He’d think about it later. For now, Geordi had too much synthehol champagne and _actual_ wine in his belly to think about anything else other than Hugh arriving in a matter of minutes to begin their _own_ night of fun. He glanced around one last time, ensuring that everything was ready: Privacy Mode was already locked in for the night, windows were tinted to a perfect shade, protection and rope and toys all sorted and replicated for whatever they whimmed. He’d even dragged his desk rug and chair out and around to the middle of the living room, the wine bottle and a glass for Hugh waiting on said desk where office work would _normally_ be scattered about. Geordi then looked down at himself as he swirled his glass in nerves, lounging in his scooted-over-from-his-desk chair on top of a rug and in nothing but his uniform’s dress pants, shoes, and whatever jewelry still littered his ears and hands. 

He’d always wrangled somewhat with self-consciousness, people poking and prodding at him and his VISOR during his younger years never helped. He wasn’t the tallest guy around, but he was perfectly Hugh-height, Geordi reasoned; he had an okay amount of peppered chest hair and his arms were reasonably taut, as any good engineers were that still liked to wrangle equipment with their hands. His ass was nice and his profile was just as nice, Geordi’s free hand trailing down his jawline and resting to self-consciously clutch the little paunch on his stomach... where _Hugh_ on the other hand, oh- the xB had those abs Geordi could _eat_ off of.

Which he did. Regularly.

Any doubts Geordi may have had about his physique, for the time being, went out the window, as the action of Geordi pinching himself in nerves inadvertently stirred a familiar memory of Hugh lovingly squishing him under the covers.

And his lips splayed into a wide, wide grin at hearing the chime of a doorbell.

“Computer: identity visitor?”

_“ <Reclamation Project Executive Director Hugh. Enhanced Privacy Mode still engaged.>” _

“Continue environmental privacy protocols… but _only_ authorize entry for Executive Director Hugh.” 

The door wooshed open, and he heard the xB shuffle inside. 

“Geordi! Forgive me that I’m a few minutes late,” Hugh exclaimed, Geordi hearing him fumbling with his ornate coat and hanging it beside the door, “I ran into a Commander with the most _delightful_ animal companion I’d ever seen; a ‘pitbull,’ I was told! Oh, she was so sweet, but she licked _all_ over my hands; I must wash them before anything, so I... ah, where--” 

Geordi’s smile was cat-like as he heard Hugh stop and notice his chair’s new arrangement facing the glistening, privacy-tinted windows. 

“Geordi, what’re you--”

Finally, the shirtless Captain swiveled around to face Hugh- Geordi’s perfectly-trimmed beard resting in one hand, and his other cradling the bottom of his wine glass.

And Hugh stood there wide-eyed and beet-red, the xB trying desperately to pick his jaw up off the floor.

Moments like this bolstered Geordi’s re-emerging confidence that he really _was_ a good-lookin’ guy; because oh, the Captain forgot how great it felt to be ogled. 

Geordi swirled his wine again and spread his tight, uniform-bound legs a little wider, the shoes muffled against the soft rug below him. 

“Evening, Director.”

Hugh’s mouth shut. It opened again.

And before it could open _again,_ he began to point towards Geordi’s quarters restroom. “I am going to. Go. …--Wash my- hands, now; I will-- mhm-”

And with a nod and a hand cupping his own cheek, Hugh dashed to the right, and Geordi couldn’t help but laugh at how much he loved seeing his Executive Director all flustered.

At the sound of the faucet beginning to run, Geordi rose up with a dreamy sigh and set his wine glass on the desk. “Whose dog was it?” 

“Ahh-- a Commander’s?” Hugh called back. “Forgive me, I am having difficulty recalling the _details_ right now!”

“Pfft- can’t _imagine_ why-”

“And please, I ask; do _not_ misinterpret that for displeasure, Captain--”

“Ohhhh, I hope not…” 

Rounding the doorframe with a smirk and hanging inside the bathroom with both arms stretched to his sides, Geordi watched Hugh look up from the faucet in the mirror’s reflection and oh, Geordi smiled even wider at seeing Hugh still just as red. 

“We got a lot of ‘pleasuring’ to do tonight, anyway.”

Shutting the faucet off and drying his hands, Hugh practically giggled before the man snatched him into a tight embrace, the fabric of the xB’s undershirt warm against Geordi’s bare chest. “Oh, I’m so _relieved,_ Geordi,” Hugh admitted as his shoulders crumpled in the hug, “everything went so…” 

“Perfect?” Geordi offered, taking in a deep breath as the scent of Hugh’s hair lingered with him. “I can’t get over it, Hugh; I’ve been to _how many_ Starfleet assemblies like this and there’s always _something_ stupid that acts up...”

“Thank you--” Hugh murmured into his shoulder, “for your help. For all your personnels’ assistance. The Reclamation Project needed this.”

“We didn’t do anything extra except help bring out what was there already, hun,” Geordi assured, already lost in Hugh’s mismatched eyes when he pulled back. “You oughta be proud of yourselves.”

“I am always proud of my people. It’s simply… beyond description when I can see that others outside of us _acknowledge_ us as people.”

That should be bare fucking minimum for Starfleet, Geordi thought bitterly. For anyone, much less xBs.

So Geordi responded with what he thought best- a sweet, savory kiss, the Captain’s thumb brushing at Hugh’s bottom-most holo-imager remnant.

Hugh smirked. “You smell like wine again.” 

“Well, I kinda already spoiled the surprise earlier,” Geordi admitted with a tsk. Stealing a glance, Geordi’s hands slid downwards to rest on the xB’s shoulders: “Can I help you out of this, first?” 

“You read my mind, Captain.”  
“Helps when it was so kind to invite me in _beforehand.”_

So Geordi gingerly, slowly, _deliberately_ unzipped Hugh’s top from the back, the two reacquainting themselves in both conversation and kiss-given tongue space. Once done and very much shirtless, they trotted back out to Geordi’s foyer of a living room, the Captain offering a faint sniff and show-off of Picard’s wine. It looked as if it was Hugh’s first time ever holding an Earthen wine, as he looked it up and down and tested its weight by holding the bottle from the neck. 

Once finished reading, Hugh tilted his head towards the glass he held in his other hand, giving a quick sniff to the _very_ meager amount Geordi poured him. 

His eyes widened. “So I take it _that_ is what 15% alcohol by volume smells like.”

“Sure is,” Geordi told him, “and that’s why you’re gonna go _easy_ tonight on it.” 

“You don’t look down on me for drinking so little of the Admiral’s gift, do you?” 

“How could I!” Geordi exclaimed with a playful scoff, “not to mention that you’ve been drinkin’ _other_ things tonight, too! You have and enjoy whatever you can; I’m just happy I get to toast you _without_ 2,000 other people around us.”

“The sentiment is mutual.” 

Geordi watched Hugh, leaning against his desk, swirl the wine with a rather seductive-looking smirk.

“Cheers.”

His dress uniform pants were getting tight again. 

Perfect timing.

Geordi sipped the extra bit of wine he’d tested earlier, and Hugh took a rather generous sample of his first real Bordeaux-blend earth wine. 

Hugh opened his eyes again with a slow, hard blink. His eyes darted back and forth, as if looking for flavor names, and he smacked his lips with a genuine surprise. 

“Oh. That is… mmm. Ah.”

“And _that’s_ what fancy French wine tastes like,” Geordi raised his glass to him. “Whaddya think?” 

“I’ve… _had_ champagne and other ‘prosecco’ wines, I’ve heard they’re called, but… aha. Mm. I _think_ I enjoy it? Allow my processors more time to profile this,” he asked with a motioning of his hand, “it’s very...”

“Rich,” Geordi offered. 

“Yes.”  
“Smooth!”  
Hugh snapped his fingers. “Fitting!”

“I’m not a _super_ big wine guy,” the Captain admitted, shaking a finger as he began to meander towards his chair again. “But when I _do_ have it, I like nice, bold reds. Makes you feel like you’re really celebrating the occasion, I dunno.”

Plopping into his seat with a turn of a heel and a long sigh, Geordi got comfortable and sat up nice and straight- chin in his hand, and opening his legs just wide enough for a certain xB to sit in his lap. 

Geordi’s eyebrows rose. “Why don’t you come stargaze with me, honey.”

And as Geordi escorted Hugh down to sit in his lap with wide open legs, Hugh got particularly comfy in his seat, and _particularly_ close and deep into Geordi’s crotch as Geordi turned them around 180 degrees and locked the chair in place.

Oof. Ooo. Brat, he knew what that would do to him.

“You’re _certain_ no-one can see us with this protocol on,” the xB asked with a sigh. 

“It’s screened and filtered for a reason, Hugh,” Geordi assured, rubbing the back of his spinal augment. “Promise. And if it _didn’t,_ I’d hardwire it _myself_ to do it.”

Silence allowed them a peace and quiet the rest of the night had been sorely lacking.

Hugh, juxtaposed to the light of the sun from where Geordi sat, looked simply regal as he took another healthy swig from his glass.

“I was always amused by the term “stargazing,” the Director hummed. “And it always made me impressed that other sapients could memorize and record all those lights by which to travel.”

Geordi mulled on what his boyfriend’s words could mean and imply. “Yeah,” he said simply enough, “guess you have a bit bigger of a repository in there. Is it… like that for _all_ of space? No matter where you go? Or would you have to update your immediate storage?”

“It depends on a multitude of factors, really… when we crashed onto Ohniaka III, it took me awhile to remember _which_ stars were _what_ . And this was by _Borg_ naming conventions, of course; no terms that Starfleet or any other species would know. But I knew exactly where we _were_ within the Alpha Quadrant… and as the initial shock and awe of us surviving wore off after a year, we began to try and understand our skies more intimately. When spring was beginning to shift into summer, our moon cycles bringing a full or lesser tide for the month...”

Hugh leaned back further against Geordi- a lean that included some not-so-subtle inching of his hips against the Captain’s inner thighs and crotch. “The ‘context behind knowledge’ I speak of, and all.”

Geordi groaned. “You can’t keep doing that without consequences, you know that,” the Captain warned, his zipper annoyingly tight, “I’m trying so hard to listen…”

“Mmm- maybe I am already _aware_ of the consequences.”

Geordi took another sip of wine, and he was thankful he only had about a fourth of his pour left.

Again, a peaceful silence overtook the Captain’s quarters, Geordi watching a repair drone toodle along outside on the moon’s surface while his hand absently roved Hugh’s abs.

Geordi smirked as he felt Hugh’s chest rise quicker each time he scooted further downward.

The xB took his second-to-last sip. “When I was younger,” Hugh said after a sigh, “ _much_ younger- in both body and mind… I called sex an instinct, before I knew what it was. Or, at least, before I had the courage to _name_ it. I called it a ‘warmth.’ An ‘ache.’ An ‘innate knowledge.’”

“To your credit,” Geordi offered, “you weren’t exactly _wrong_ in those descriptors.” 

He watched Hugh smile. “No,” he agreed, “but… I remember then, even how odd the contrast was, and how... _fitting_ my words from last night still are.”

> _“There is no—_ greater burden _than knowing the bare definition of something… and then having all its immensity, all its depth, its implications-- s-strewn out before you when you finally have it. And then you feel too stunned, too ignorant-- to even be able to call it by name.”_

“I’ve thought a lot today about what you told me last night, y’know.” 

Hugh’s breath hitched before he replied, Geordi smirking as he brushed the outside of Hugh’s pants and fingers began to fiddle with a clasp and zipper...

“A part of me _does_ know, Geordi.”

The Director finished off his last swig of wine with a hefty gulp, Hugh setting his glass on the end table with a more-dramatic-motion-than-necessary. His body was lolling easier in Geordi’s lap, and the Captain bit his lip in excitement (and watchful) for how Hugh so excitedly moaned at the first fondling of the xB’s hardening dick.

“So what’d you think of the wine?” Geordi asked, escorting Hugh’s length out of his pants. “Kinda hoping you say you like it; he sent _six bottles_ of this stuff, so I’m gonna need someone to help me drink it all.” 

“How generous,” Hugh said quietly, Geordi slinging the rest of his glass down the hatch so he could have two hands to work with. “It is strong- _different_ than what I am used to, but… you know _well_ by now that different can be- ahh— good for us. Affirming. And I— theorize, actually… Troval will like it. Maybe Crosis? Hmm. Mnn- _maybe_ Five. I do not know if V’evik drinks…”

Geordi smirked, leaning up in his chair to rest his chin on Hugh’s shoulder. “I saw them with at least _one_ flute tonight.”

“AhhHh. Then we will— have to offer upon a night we have off and wish fraternization.”

“And then we got 6 _more_ coming in the next three months.”

“Another-?” He said before a little gasp. “How do you know?”

“Doctors make good gossips and even _kinder_ wine couriers, turns out.”

“Mm. I— give Beverly my regards.”

Hugh’s cheeks and lines around his implants were _red_ by this point as Geordi rubbed at the xB, his now unoccupied hand going to undo his _own_ zipper and rub himself between Hugh’s cheeks, if he could manage that… but amidst his starting moans and gasps, Hugh began to whine a cute little “no” in protest, and Geordi’s eyebrows went up with a wide smirk. 

_“Iii_ want to tend to that,” Hugh said sweetly, “I still have to _congratulate_ you properly for last night, Captain…”

“Yeah?” he chuckled. “How’re you feeling, by the way; I wanna make sure you’re not gonna get queasy on me and you’re still okay.”

“Mmm, no- I’d know,” Hugh promised. “I monitored my consumption _very closely_ tonight, Captain; to prepare myself. You’ve simply…” 

“Did I... put you in a mood?”   
“More.”   
“Make you horny?”  
Hugh giggled. “Partly. …no, no- you _did._ ” 

“Put you in a mood, make you horny, _and_ set you off by telling you that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now than here with you?” 

Geordi, as Hugh lazily “collected” that data and began to realize its implications, helped the xB turn around as he shuffled to sit facing Geordi in the chair. “Huh. Did that _last_ part just _now_.” 

The Captain held Hugh by the waist when Hugh only responded with a lazy grin. “You’re cute.”   
“ _You_ are.”  
“You’re _tipsy.”  
_ “I will _adapt_.”

“Are you sure?” the Captain asked. “I’m probably repeating myself, but I… just wanna be sure, okay? I know you’ve had it with your-- _own_ history of consent, I’ve had my _own_ wine; the _last_ thing I wanna do is--” 

“Geordi…”

The sureness in the xB’s voice caught him off guard.  
Geordi looked up, and suddenly Hugh was cusping his ear, the tenderness of the sight a sharp contrast to the thrill he felt of Hugh’s other hand undoing his own pants.

“I hear you. In— _more_ ways than auditory. And I believe I understand what you are inferring. But you… you are, in _no_ way, that which robbed me of my personhood since birth. You do not seek to use me _or_ my body as a vessel for your own gain. Every other time we’ve had sex, you’ve stopped something if I asked you to… and vice versa. I trust you. And it’s— it is alright. The fact you felt the need to vocalize your concern, even now, is enough.”

And before Geordi could nod at the tender little confession and mouth out an “okay,” Hugh grinned as wide as his dimples and facial scars would allow him. “Tell me what I am thinking, dear.” 

“I--” 

“Please.” 

Geordi was quiet. 

And the clarity came to him in a powerful, warm wave of assurance and emotion that was more feelings than tangible words.

Geordi nodded. “I getcha. ...Thank you.”

Hugh kissed him, his thumb giving one more brush of the thumb to Geordi’s jawline before he leaned back. Readjusting in the Captain’s lap, he undid Geordi’s pants clasp in that very efficient way Geordi was learning xBs could do, testing how hard he already was. “Besides…” Hugh alluded with a playful glint in his deep-brown eye, pressing his erect self against Geordi, “this is _hardly_ the most intoxicated I’ve been during intercourse.”

Geordi had to snort at that, gasping as his cock and balls were so wonderfully caressed and brushed against Hugh’s own. “You really got busy those 23 years, didn’t ya.” 

“Agency is a powerfully tempting gift, Geordi,” he explained quietly, “It would be a shame to waste it and not _indulge_ in that temptation.”

Hugh continued to stroke him once Geordi was, at least partially, out of his pants. 

Geordi’s fist mashed against his mouth and his eyes screwed shut.

And he really, really wanted to see Hugh’s rosy little cheeks suck him till the last starship left orbit. 

“...May I offer my _extended_ congratulatio—“

“If you say ‘congrats’ one more time before you get my _own_ congrats in your mouth,” Geordi managed, “I’m not gonna be able to remember how to spell out the full _word_ here—“

And Hugh laughed as he stole one more kiss from Geordi, shuffling off the chair and kneeling on the plush area rug below. “Will you still be able to once I’m done?”

“That’s _very_ debatable.”

Geordi moaned as Hugh kissed his tip as a teaser, then again, deeper, on the side—

“We’ll just have to see.”

* * *

> **`[ ARCHIVAL CATALOGUING SEQUENCE INITIAITED ]   
>  > NOTE: UPLINK TO ALCOVE 12.437 FAILED  
>  >SUBSTITUTE MEMORY REROUTE THROUGH SECONDARY OUTLET  
>    
>  UPLINK DESTINATION VERIFIED  
>    
>    
>  CONNECTION ESTABLISHED  
>    
>    
>    
>  INITIATE MEMORY REROUTE . . .` **
> 
> He is at a beach. 
> 
> He, Hugh, is sitting at a beach. 
> 
> And he is reflecting on the day cycle’s events as sits, at 2004 hours, before a crackling fire and opposite his friend Crosis.
> 
> 1.5 hours had been dedicated to setting anchor points for their pre-meditative scans of the top soil to determine if the chosen plot was safe to begin planning. 6.1 hours had been dedicated to traversing the terrain and collecting data on the local flora and fauna. 
> 
> A cumulative 59 minutes, 17 seconds of those hours was spent... talking, as they performed the subsequent tasks. Speaking. Sparking idle conversation whenever this sensation, that… ‘clarity’ overtook them. They did not used to talk this much before- especially before Lore was here. Especially _when_ Lore was here.
> 
> And now that Lore had been _gone_ for 6 months, 23 days, he spoke more words than he ever had.
> 
> A cumulative 2 minutes, 47 seconds of that 59 minutes, 17 of talking were spent laughing with Crosis.
> 
> It felt good to do such. Other substitutable words? Fun. Giddy. Charming. 
> 
> Fun had been the best word so far.
> 
> 2.3 hours had been dedicated to transmitting the topography information back to the others near their “capitol” headquarters, with 1.7 of those hours compiling the information properly in order to most efficiently communicate their findings.
> 
> After these 2.3 hours were complete, 15 minutes had been dedicated to cleaning their bodies at their predetermined campsite near the ocean. He and Crosis had sustained much inadvertent organic matter collection due to either organic bodily functions such as sweat, dirt and debris collecting to said sweat, and general… hygiene.
> 
> It was an important footnote in most sapient cultures because they did not have regeneration alcoves, and he and Crosis and the others needed to maintain their bodies that adapted as they lived apart from the Collective.
> 
> Adapted. Changed. Grew from.
> 
> Became _more_ from. 
> 
> Initially, 23 seconds of those 15 minutes dedicated to cleaning were spent examining Crosis.
> 
> 57 seconds after Crosis had stepped into the ocean to clean his unit, his-- body... the impact of the waves and the pull of the tide underneath surface-level water caused Crosis to lose two implants that were deemed non-crucial. Lose? Not the right word. Perhaps ‘shed.’ 
> 
> Adapted to life without. 
> 
> Hugh, who had been folding their clothes on the cushioned tarp (as clothing was deemed ‘irrelevant’ during cleaning regiments), heard Crosis make a pained sound from the ocean, and did not wait for his processors to finish hypothesizing what may be wrong with his friend before running out to the open water to help him. Crosis stood at a water level just below where his pelvic plating used to be, and as he held his larger friend to stand against the weight of the tide to try and find what implants were gone under the pull of the water, what was wrong and if he was alright as Hugh ran his hands over… Crosis’ bare skin, made soft and flushed by the ocean...
> 
> For 10.9213 seconds, Hugh froze as he stood behind Crosis.
> 
> Hugh recorded his hands shuddering against Crosis’ clearly-defined abdominals. Skin, where once had been his exo-plating. He recalled a feeling of… it was hard, even now, to find words by which to describe these 10.9213 seconds. He recalled their earlier time of talking, of laughter within that talking, the sights they had seen together and the flora and the fauna they had observed...
> 
> Breathlessness. Tightness. Dryness- but only in his mouth, even _despite_ the ocean around him.
> 
> Weight.
> 
> And an instinct, an innate _knowledge_ he had no name for made him grip Crosis from behind by an extra .02 centimeters.
> 
> He must have been malfunctioning.
> 
> But Crosis must have been too; for he did not move and his hand rested over his on his abdominals, he--
> 
> “H-hugh?”
> 
> When Crosis spoke his name, Hugh nodded, confirmed he was alright, and hurriedly ran back to shore to resume folding their clot-- oh. He had-- finished already. 
> 
> And he did not finish cleaning himself in the ocean with Crosis. 
> 
> This was inefficient. 
> 
> But he had to leave. Hugh could not stay there; it made him inefficient. That weight and that ache persisted the longer he was there with Crosis.
> 
> So he observed Crosis by sitting with his knees drawn to his plated chest, his holo-imager collecting as much data as it could for 8 minutes, 3 seconds. 
> 
> And for 17.24 seconds, he watched Crosis emerge from the open ocean. 
> 
> The way Crosis hand ran through his wet bangs. The way water riveted down his chest’s exo-plating, over his clearly-defined abs, yet still-soft as he held them from behind… the smell. The crispness.
> 
> Hugh recalled how he felt when Geordi taught him the word “friends.”
> 
> He felt a similar feeling to then- except much, much more.
> 
> An ache accompanied combined with a warmth Hugh had not experienced in this caliber before began to spread from his chest, to his sternum- down past his chest’s exo-plating, causing his organic body to flush, to shiver despite the heat, until that heat reached all the way down to his recently-removed pelvic plating. 
> 
> Hugh’s mouth hung open, and suddenly those 17.24 seconds were over and Crosis was standing above him.
> 
> “Hugh, why did you--”
> 
> Hugh, avoiding his friend’s question, ran back out to sea to clean his body, finishing their 15 minutes of cleaning.
> 
> And no matter how many times Hugh tried to submerge himself over and over, he could not wash away the warmth.
> 
> The next 3.5 hours that were dedicated to establishing their campsite, gathering materials for and building and starting a fire, laying out their biochip energy restock ports, and laying out their cushioned blanket of a tarp ground covering and tent where they would “regenerate” was very difficult to remember, because Hugh could only focus on those 15 minutes.
> 
> Crosis noticed. Hugh knew he did; he had observed him too long previously to discount the change in his behavior. Crosis was… short, brief, _quiet_ compared to their previous talking, his organic eye looked dilated, and he even looked at Hugh multiple times. Stared at him, even; as Hugh put his clothes back on, as they both hauled firewood back to their camp, as the fire began to grow larger after it was lit and their tent was built. 
> 
> And all Hugh was able to do was sit opposite to Crosis, try to continue and process these feelings and give them words by which to describe them, and sit bundled with his knees to his chin and his arm wrapping around calf muscles still encased by implants and augments.
> 
> “Hugh,” Crosis said, “this is not what my observed behavior would indicate typical of you. ...What is wrong.”
> 
> Hugh was quiet. He hunched further in on himself.
> 
> The ache and the warmth and the innate knowledge, even though they made no physical sounds, were deafening.
> 
> “Crosis…”
> 
> The deafening paradox made it difficult to look for words.
> 
> “Today was good, but… earlier, when you-- cleaned yourself, you looked, very…”
> 
> Hugh’s jaw shuddered past this ache as he tried to look for a word, despite the difficulty.
> 
> _“Pleasing,”_ he said, spat out, “in the ocean, Crosis. I-- looked at you. For 17.24 seconds. And I found it very-- _pleasing._ I-I am sorry if that-- causes you discomfort, you do not like me _looking_ at you in such a way, or-- this is--!” spontaneity overtook him, and his hands gripped at his hair and cranial plating before throwing them out, “these words are hard, I feel so many! I am warm, I ache, I--” 
> 
> Crosis stood up. 
> 
> He walked around the fire, sat down next to Hugh, and put his arm around his back so that Crosis’ assimilation tubule hand rested on his shoulder.
> 
> Every implant on the surface of Hugh’s skin felt like pinpricks. The edges where metal met flesh were hot not in physical temperature, but in sensitivity, and the former Borg, this unit, him, _Hugh_ , sensed every wisp of a breeze from the wind on his flesh.
> 
> His processors were not functioning correctly. They couldn’t possibly be. 
> 
> Not with how much interference ran through his mind at the sight of Crosis in this moment, at this location. Not under the multitude of stars in the night sky, the subtle crashing of Ohniakan waves 15.61 meters behind them, the light of their shared fire creating shadows against Crosis’ face… 
> 
> A face with strong, defined features, marred by the beginnings of his organic facial hair, a hydraulics tubing port remnant, his dark hair, his chin, a face that he _trusted,_ and… 
> 
> Hugh’s pectoral exo-plating must have _also_ been experiencing malfunctions, _again,_ because his chest ached and burned and carried a weight that his diagnostics had no name for. 
> 
> But Hugh, very quickly, realized that while his _diagnostic_ programs may not have had the answers he was looking for, his innate knowledge did- in recognition of what his organic body was responding to. 
> 
> And he was, in his great naivety, all paralyzed, tandalized, and struck silent at this newfound weight of individuality-inspired desire.
> 
> _[Attraction]_
> 
> Hugh’s jaw tightened and his breath hitched in his throat. “Crosis--” 
> 
> Crosis, his friend, turned his head and looked down to Hugh, and he did not break their locked gaze for a long 5.2 seconds.
> 
> “Did you think I did not _notice_ you watching me?”
> 
> His adrenaline levels were rising. Increased perspiration was not merely due to the warmth of the fire. An increased heart rate did not stop him from raising his unaugmented hand up ever so slightly, but it felt so heavy, so conflicted, so _wanting--_
> 
> He wanted Crosis, but he had him here already! What more was there to want?!
> 
> Hugh knew it. His innate knowledge, this _attraction,_ _knew_ what he wanted. 
> 
> But he, the former drone, the former Borg, faced with _acting_ upon that innate knowledge, that desire, felt so-- 
> 
> “Hugh.” 
> 
> His friend said his name. _His_ name.   
> Hugh wanted to hear him say it again. 
> 
> “Pleasing… it is-- a good word, Hugh-”
> 
> But closer. 
> 
> “A fitting one.”
> 
> And suddenly, instinct leaned Hugh’s head inwards and upwards by 10.16 centimeters and opened his mouth further. 
> 
> Was this _his_ instinct, Hugh questioned in momentary panic? Was it a Borg instinct, a _Collective_ instinct; was this alright, was he even controlling himself by his own actions--!? He felt so powerless to stop this new sensation--
> 
> .43 seconds later, Crosis followed in mimicry and came closer to Hugh’s own face.
> 
> With Crosis, maybe it _was_ his own instinct, Hugh thought; not Borg. Perhaps it was an instinct, _both_ their instincts, that were merely looking for a recipient.
> 
> Crosis had instincts too. Not Borg. Maybe his own? Before assimilation?
> 
> Judging by what data Hugh’s ocular implant was collecting in all physical analysis, observance, and Hugh’s collected knowledge of Crosis’ behavior over the 10 months, 13 days he had known him…
> 
> Crosis. His friend, who he’d almost lost to Lore.
> 
> His friend, who he could not live without.
> 
> Hugh moved his head in another 5 centimeters. 
> 
> Crosis did the same.
> 
> Another 3.4 centimeters. Hugh’s olfactory processors could smell Crosis’ breath.
> 
> It was warm. Organic. It smelled of the Ohniakan ocean, sweat, spit--
> 
> Hugh’s thoughts lingered on the warmth _._ The warmth that Hugh _wanted._
> 
> He moved the last 3.7 centimeters that eliminated the space between them, and Hugh’s innate knowledge told him he was now ‘kissing’ Crosis on the lips.
> 
> And though he knew what kissing was in all his libraries of assimilated knowledge, he, Hugh had never kissed anyone before.
> 
> The attraction caused him to ache when he parted from the kiss, Hugh’s eye looking at his friend Crosis. “May I,” Hugh said in a quiet voice, “m-may I… do that again--” 
> 
> “Please,” Crosis replied. “And may I--”  
> “Please.” 
> 
> Hugh inhaled sharply as he felt Crosis’ hand rise up from Hugh’s shoulder, up and over his neck, holding, _cradling_ the back of his head and the remnant exo-plating that was there--
> 
> They kissed again for 2.1 seconds.
> 
> 2.3 seconds. 
> 
> Again, deeper, for 1.5 seconds.
> 
> That unnamable-yet-obvious instinct surged under Hugh’s malfunctioning pectoral plating again, telling him he didn’t have to think so hard about the time expended on kissing.
> 
> All Hugh had to think about was the feeling of Crosis’ lips melding further into his own. The hot, organic spit intermingled with his lips and tongue, _his_ _tongue,_ how was it even _doing_ that, as they adapted to better positionings of their heads. Hugh adapted to Crosis’ lips to avoid the clash of their teeth- the strong curvature of Crosis’ augmented palm running over Hugh’s short hair and cranial plating, pulling him closer… Hugh enjoyed this activity and he needed more, _wanted_ more! This instinct, this _attraction_ told him to go further— how this instinct was growing _louder_ ; how Hugh wanted to dig past his augments and _thank_ that instinct that made everything beneath him ache so much and made him want _more_ of this feeling, malfunctions or inefficiency be disregarded!
> 
> The instinct rose inside of him until Hugh felt it eck out of his mouth in a malfunctioning… no, just a sigh. It felt _broken_ ; no more than a _gasp,_ or a _moan_ , yes, those were good words!-- as his lips crumpled against the bristle of Crosis’ facial hair…
> 
> Hugh's voice, separated from his vocal implants mere weeks ago, sounded so… wonderful. Good, even. Beautiful, _pretty_ when driven by this instinct. 
> 
> It made Crosis pause. 
> 
> _[Hugh wanted to do it again]_
> 
> And by the suddenness of how Crosis closed the 8.3 centimeters of distance to kiss Hugh’s lips after their pause, Hugh could tell Crosis wanted to do it again, too. 
> 
> Shutting his organic eye, Hugh’s hands now found their way roving around Crosis’ body, up into his hair and over flesh and metal and implants and augments. But as a new ache settled in his chest when his hands snagged by accident on the bottom edge of Crosis’ shirt, and Hugh’s holographic imager was… ‘distracting?’ How? This is how he’d _always_ collected data! Why would it be distracting? 
> 
> Maybe it was because Hugh did not _want_ to collect data right now. Collection was not… it no longer had to be a priority. Hugh wanted to exist in this experience. This pleasure, because it was _nice_ . It was _good._ It was _fun._ Hugh wanted to exist as an _individual,_ exist as _Hugh_ exploring this innate desire and want and instinct and--
> 
> “Crosis,” Hugh breathed, pulling back from their repeated kisses, “Crosis, take… remove your shirt.” 
> 
> He watched Crosis pause, and then comply, taking the longsleeve shirt off and _finally_ , he got to _look_ at him again.
> 
> But before Hugh could comply in solidarity, Crosis’ large hands settled on Hugh’s shoulders with an uttered “Wait.” His friend’s eye was dilated, his breath was hot, and that eye was… wandering. Looking. Deciding?
> 
> “I… _I-I_ want to take off _your_ shirt, Hugh. May I do that?”
> 
> Hugh swallowed.
> 
> Realizing there were too many words to possibly pick and he would be inefficient by wasting time, Hugh began to nod. “P-please.”
> 
> Crosis was a large labor drone. He was only becoming larger the more time passed since they had been severed. Not larger in overall _size,_ but moreso… build? Muscle mass. His shoulders grew broader once implants were removed, and even his well-defined abdominal muscles bore a 8.9% increase in organic fat. His original, organic skin pigment was 97.2% complete in asserting its dominance.
> 
> His hands, however, remained the same size. They were a constant. And feeling Crosis’ hands slide up his waist, helping guide his longsleeve sleepwear off caused Hugh to experience attraction in calibers he was only beginning to fathom.
> 
> Once his shirt was off, Crosis set his hands on Hugh’s shoulders again.
> 
> “What… what next?” Crosis asked. “We must… _choose_ what we want, still. Tell me that. --What you want.”
> 
> Hugh thought about Crosis’ hands.  
> Hugh thought about Crosis’ hands _on_ him in _more places_ than just his shoulders, or his head, or—  
> He remembered those 10.9213 seconds.  
> He thought about the 17.24 seconds.
> 
> _[Attraction could be manifested by acts of sexual intercourse]_
> 
> And all the words came tumbling out.
> 
> “I… want you to touch me,” Hugh began to say and ramble, “I want you to hold me, I want to kiss you, I want you to _put your hands anywhere you want_ and I want to _look at you_ again _._ Because your hands are large and mine are _not!_ I want to understand this warmth and this ache and this **_attraction_** and this instinct, and I want to _feel this_ beyond knowing it from the _Collective_ and not feel so _blind! I’m—-”_
> 
> Hugh, in a flurry driven by the way spontaneity’s honesty guided him, disengaged his holo-imager and set it to the side of their tarp and he gripped Crosis’ arms and his organic eye burned. “And I want to do things to _you!_ I want to have sex with _you_ because _I can_ and you are _you_ and I am _me!_ We may know _more_ than what we did on Cube 5219! _I want to have sex with you_ **_because we can, Crosis- do you understand?!”_**
> 
> Hugh’s chest heaved after his ramble. He did not log how long he spoke for.
> 
> And a satisfactory reply came from Crosis tightening his hands on Hugh’s shoulders, pulling him closer just as Hugh pulled Crosis’ arms to hold him to meet again for kisses. 
> 
> Hugh did not log the amount of time they spent in this… action. Flurry. _Frenzy,_ either. 
> 
> Hugh only began logging their actions when they both fell over backwards on the cushioned tarp, the clatter of their augments scraping against one another as legs intertwined, hands roved, and Crosis began to kiss Hugh’s neck once on their sides.
> 
> Hugh gasped. 
> 
> “If there is anything you do not want or you want me to stop,” Crosis murmured after a kiss, “please, tell me--”
> 
> His attraction was beginning to culminate in his pelvic area; an area that was still entirely new to the former Borg once his pelvic plating had been shed, and mostly irrelevant to his duties and functions. As Troval’s treatments continued and Hugh became more of Hugh, he knew his opening was becoming less visible and becoming a “head” , able to push himself back and see what he wanted to have stimulated.
> 
> He’d not acted on this area yet. Everything about it, about what he _could_ be in this transition, still felt so immense to even approach when he had not been properly stimulated yet.
> 
> But it was similar to how Crosis was built. How he was made. What Crosis was _also_ transitioning into.
> 
> And while that area did not yet feel _complete_ to Hugh, while he still felt _disconnected_ to it at times, it _was_ him. 
> 
> As if something in construction, being remade.  
> He should speak to Horus about this comparison later.
> 
> But in this moment, he had his very real, genuine, _personally unique_ needs, and he wondered if Crosis’ kinship would help. 
> 
> “Down,” Hugh breathed, pulling Crosis’ hand down towards his pants. “Down. Here.”
> 
> “Y-you’re certain--?”
> 
> “More than anything.”
> 
> Crosis complied. His hand unzipped Hugh’s pants, slid beneath his undergarments, and oh, over the hardening tip and his folds--
> 
> “You are properly… lubricated. Hydrat-- no. ...Wet,” Crosis swallowed. 
> 
> Hugh could only moan in agreement, nodding as if to encourage Crosis. “Up by 1.37 centimeters, up-- yes, there, move your--” 
> 
> The back of Hugh’s cranial plating dug into the cushioned tarp as he thrust his head back.
> 
> Hugh realized he was being very loud, but they were the only lifeforms for 14.78 kilometers. No one to hear, no one to observe him and Crosis exploring themselves and their attraction.
> 
> Their sex.
> 
> So Hugh could be as loud as he wanted. 
> 
> His legs squirmed and his hips rolled with Crosis’ hands as he touched him. Stroked that head he'd worked so hard for. Pulled his pants and undergarments off all the way. Rubbed. Tended to. 
> 
> Fucked, a crude slang known to his language banks was.  
> But it was a good word. A fitting word.
> 
> Hugh did not record the exact amounts of seconds or nanoseconds they spent in between kisses, of how long Hugh spent moaning and how many times Crosis panted. He did not focus on that. He focused, instead, on how pleasing his friend was, and how they were able to culminate their attraction into mutually understood sex. 
> 
> That ache, slowly, was beginning to build until it felt like too much, and Hugh’s innate knowledge told him he was going to “climax.” 
> 
> “Hugh-?”
> 
> “Please!” he gasped, “Don’t-- don’t stop--”
> 
> And by the time Crosis’ large, caring, beautiful, _wet_ hands continued motioning through under his labia and stroking his head, Hugh was fully weeping, crying sobbing gasps and his forearm hanging limp over his eye and where his imager used to be.
> 
> Sex was immense. Their sex was beautiful. 
> 
> How cheap it felt, how _horrid_ it felt- Hugh knowing he only knew about sex by way of what the Collective gave him and Crosis in their drone states.
> 
> But they were not Borg. Not the Collective. Not anymore.
> 
> And Hugh, alongside himself, wanted to know all there _could_ be about sex.
> 
> “Hugh?” Crosis asked after panting into the crook of his neck. “H-hugh… how are you--”  
> Another sob offered Hugh a moment to gasp and collect more air, wanting to cling to the larger man and let him feel the warmth, the wetness between his legs that _Crosis_ had caused and Hugh’s body had let happen. “C-crosis,” Hugh said, managed, sniffing through the respiratory repercussions of his crying. “Crosis… I… you made me--” 
> 
> “Orgasm? Was that it?”  
> “Y-yes,” Hugh said, _nodded_ in saying. “Yes, I’ve… never felt that before! It’s-- aha, AHH, ah, you--!” Hugh managed as Crosis withdrew his hand over his own tenderness, “you-- thank you, your hands are so-- aha! I feel-- sore! Tired!”
> 
> The instinct told Hugh to hold Crosis’ head and kiss him again. That he wasn’t done yet.
> 
> _[He wanted more]_
> 
> “You were… you were so _loud,”_ Crosis tried to protest, _“_ you _yelled,_ is that--” 
> 
> “You do not know!” Hugh said, _laughed_ , after another sniff, his hands holding the other Borg, Crosis’, shoulders, “you don’t know how… how good it is to _feel_ it! Knowing it is not the _same_ as **_feeling it,_** Crosis, you can’t understand unless you-- I need to--”
> 
> Hugh stopped, realizing something. His mouth was dry. 
> 
> Clarity came to him with that instinct. 
> 
> _[“And I want to do things to you!”]_
> 
> “Crosis, I,” Hugh started, his hands sliding down to Crosis’ own pants, “I want to make you feel this too. How an ‘orgasm’ feels. Please,” Hugh panted, “May I?”
> 
> “Please,” Crosis said, “yes. You make it sound…” 
> 
> “Incredible--?” Hugh completed before a kiss, “amazing? Extraordinary? Because it _is,”_ Hugh said, laughed, kissed him with, “It is… let me--” 
> 
> Hugh did not recall the amount of time it took to get Crosis’ pants off. He could go look at his archive later. 
> 
> But once they were, he took in the image of his friend. He kissed everything his friend that made him not lonely; the 30.4% of organic self that had emerged from their exoplating, his lips, the bare skin of his abdominal muscles, and then further, further until he _too_ found what had been unearthed from the Collective’s implants and exo-plating.
> 
> His olfactory processors were nearly overwhelmed. 
> 
> Hugh, with a thumb, pushed back his friends’ mound to see what was _also_ like him, and he kissed it.
> 
> Crosis moaned- much like _he_ did.
> 
> It was salty. It was sweet. It was wet.   
> It was Crosis.
> 
> And as Hugh began to taste further, he heard his friend cry out- just as much as Hugh did.
> 
>   
>    
>    
> 
> 
> “We should regenerate,” Crosis said.
> 
> “Yes,” Hugh agreed. 
> 
> It was quiet. Hugh’s eyes were still shut and he listened to the waves crashing, Crosis sitting behind his back and feeling the weight of his friend against him. Crosis’ head could rest on top of his.
> 
> “You do not want to.”
> 
> Hugh thought about the question.
> 
> “No.” 
> 
> And he thought about his answer.
> 
> “...not yet.” 
> 
> Hugh felt Crosis move his head. “Why?”
> 
> “Do _you_ want to?” Hugh asked. 
> 
> Crosis was silent.
> 
> “...no. Not yet.”
> 
> Hugh recalled a facial expression he’d seen Geordi do. 
> 
> He smirked.
> 
> “This... ache,” Hugh said, “I am-- tired. Sensitive. Exhausted. All qualities and conditions that should be negative in typical function… but they are not, Crosis. Not right now.” 
> 
> “Yes,” Crosis agreed, “I mean-- no. No, in agreement, with-- what-- you refer to. I too am these things.” 
> 
> Crosis paused, so Hugh began to speak.
> 
> “We may… join the others’ conversations now, about this. About sex.” 
> 
> “Yes. Do you want to?”
> 
> _[Irrelevant]_  
>  _[No]  
>  [>Choice] _
> 
> “Yes. I… like it,” Hugh followed his thoughts with, “I like these feelings. I like what I did. I-- like what _you_ did,” Hugh admitted, and he felt Geordi’s facial expression, a _smile,_ tug at his face. “and therefore, I, we... should talk about it. With the others. Who have-- _also_ felt, _experienced_ sex. It would not be wise to limit our understanding of sex because of our own,” Hugh thought, “inexperience.”  
> “We cannot fear it. Because then we may fear the others who _have_ experienced it.”
> 
> “Yes. And I do not want that.”
> 
> “Me neither.”
> 
> Crosis moved his hands to hold Hugh’s smaller palms in his. “They can help us understand… so we may do it _again_.” 
> 
> Hugh felt his eye widen. Crosis proposed a good idea.
> 
> He swallowed. “Yes.”
> 
> “Do it differently.”
> 
> “Yes.” 
> 
> “As many different ways as we _want_.” 
> 
> Hugh felt warm as his chest began to malfunction again. 
> 
> “Y-yes.”
> 
> And as his chest continued to malfunction and to tighten and to feel hot yet _again,_ Hugh winced at a sharp feeling of pain on the back of his shoulder, and Crosis withdrew his hands from Hugh’s to inspect what his friend spasmed from. 
> 
> A 15.24 centimeter-wide trapezius hydraulic implant that assisted in guiding his motor operations. It was designed to make him function better, ideally; it was given to him so that this division of their many voices may use this vessel.
> 
> But apparently, this vessel, this unit, this body, _his body!-_ and its, _his,_ organic components no longer required it.
> 
> And it began to remove itself from lack of use, or from some sort of reassertion of his organic components his implants could not protest.
> 
> Hugh winced again. “Ah--!”
> 
> “Is it here?” Crosis asked, Hugh feeling Crosis’ hand around the implant covering.
> 
> “Yes-”
> 
> Crosis braced his fingers around it and gave a very light tug. “Does it hurt when I attempt to pull?”
> 
> _[No]  
>  [Like a thorn being pulled] _
> 
> “No,” Hugh said. “Please continue.” 
> 
> It took Crosis 19.12 seconds to remove it, Hugh gasping at times due to the breeze over new flesh.
> 
> “How does it appear?” Hugh asked. “Do I require a dermal regenerator?”
> 
> “I cannot tell much due to my ocular implant’s absence,” Crosis said, “but it looks… smooth. Not-- bloody. There is a faint scarring line from where the implant’s border was, but…” 
> 
> Crosis rubbed his hand over the new patch of organic skin.
> 
> “How does it feel?”
> 
> Hugh shuddered.
> 
> “You do not appear injured.”
> 
> “I do not _feel_ injured.”
> 
> Crosis paused and traced his finger at a small remnant nodule in the center where the 15.24 centimeter-wide trapezius hydraulic implant once was.
> 
> That part would likely be there, with Hugh and his body, forever.
> 
> Crosis continued to trace. “The rejected implant is… large.”
> 
> “May I see it?” 
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> Hugh frowned as he _thought_ on why.  
> “I knew it only as a part of me. And now I want to see it being held _by_ me.”
> 
> Crosis complied.
> 
> Hugh was quiet again, turning the augment over in his hands as his organic eye and holo-imager examined it. The parent port was properly sealed, and insignificant pieces of organically-shed epidermis were still attached to its borders. It was heavy, he felt- there was a weight to this implant that surprised him in earnest… and he wondered what else the Collective “gave him” that was more weight than he had never even asked for.
> 
> It was once a part of him. Now it was not.
> 
> “We continue to shed them.”
> 
> “Yes.” 
> 
> Hugh was quiet. 
> 
> “And we are still functioning, Crosis. There is more to us underneath them.”
> 
> “And we are… building much,” his friend said. Agreed. “For the others, and ourselves.”
> 
> As Crosis’ hand began to leave his lap as he spoke, Hugh remembered something.
> 
> “No--”
> 
> His hand grabbed Crosis’ before he could choose to do anything else. Spontaneity was striking him, and Hugh tried to act quick to “chase it.” As if reeling from remembering how strong he _could_ be, Hugh’s grip loosened on Crosis’ wrist, moved it back towards his lap… and placed his former hydraulic augment in his friend’s palm. 
> 
> “Keep it,” Hugh told him. To reinforce his request, he pushed Crosis’ fingers to close around the implant and made his friend hold it. “I… saw Bosus do this. Give an implant of his to Torsus.”
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> “I…”
> 
> _Did_ he know? Maybe. It was difficult to vocalize. Hugh had many suspicions why.
> 
> So he thought to say all of them.
> 
> “You… pulled it-- from me. You made certain it was _off_ me. That I was optimal, after its removal. And you are my friend,” Hugh said. _Affirmed_ , even, with a nod. “I… trusted you, my friend, to perform those tasks. And you did. Additionally, I… trusted you to have sex with me. And you did. This has now fallen from me in the occasion of us having sex, and I… want. You. To keep it, i-if-- you are alright with this. Because I trust you.”
> 
> Hugh felt another ache in his chest. It wavered painfully on a good and _bad_ kind of ache.
> 
> But Crosis’ hand that Hugh was not holding rested, suddenly, on Hugh’s shoulder.
> 
> “What do you want me to do with it?”
> 
> “Whatever you choose. All I ask is that you keep it.”
> 
> Crosis was quiet.
> 
> “I will comply with your request, Hugh. Because I trust you too… I trust you as much as you are my friend. I will keep it as long as you want.”
> 
> “As long as you are _willing_ to keep it.” 
> 
> Hugh smiled. 
> 
> _[friends]_
> 
> “I am glad Geordi taught me about friends, Crosis.” 
> 
> “Me too.”
> 
> Hugh also hoped Geordi knew what sex was.
> 
> Waves audibly crashed for another 33 seconds and Crosis set aside Hugh’s implant before Hugh spoke again. 
> 
> “I know I have told you this sentiment before, but… I am- _glad_ you are here, Crosis,” Hugh said. “I do not like theorizing scenarios on how to function if you were _not_ here.”
> 
> “Then don’t,” Crosis told him back, pulling Hugh closer and tighter against his chest. “I _am_ here, Hugh. And right now… I am not going anywhere.”
> 
> This physical sensation held a memory in inadvertent replication, Hugh thought. 
> 
> It was a bad memory- a frightening, unsettling, _scary_ memory that tried to resurface itself in Hugh’s mental archives. A memory of Crosis reaching out and pulling Hugh against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around him, as Cube 5219’s imminent impact alarm blared overhead and drones screamed and tried to find shelter. The Cube’s hull, burning and screeching from their atmospheric descent, its entire infrastructure rattling and shaking in deafening volume as Hugh tried to observe, to collect data, to calm himself, collect information on what could be their death--
> 
> But above all else, Hugh remembered Crosis’ voice while held against him and taking cover in a very small, very cramped alcove. 
> 
> _**`[stay]  
>  ` ** _
> 
> Hugh’s throat grew tight and his jaw began to wobble.
> 
> His eye became bleary. 
> 
> _Hugh_ did _stay._
> 
> _And they were both here because of it._
> 
> The crashing of waves off-shore, the crackling wood of their fire, and their shared blanket’s rustling did not drown out the sound of Hugh’s hard sniff… and he turned his head, pressing the organic side of his face against Crosis’ chest- just as he had 10 months, 23 days ago; in fear, sought sanctuary, and certainty that he and Crosis might die together.
> 
> But they did not.
> 
> His chest began to malfunction again and the ache inside of it grew too painful, and Hugh kissed the bare skin of Crosis’ chest. 
> 
> Hugh remembered what Crosis said.
> 
> _[“So we may do it again. As many times as we want.”]_
> 
> And he also remembered that neither of them wanted to regenerate yet.
> 
> Hugh took in a deep breath as he kissed Crosis’ chest again. 
> 
> “Lie back,” Hugh told him as he leaned further against Crosis, his holo-imager successfully decoupling from his face and placing it to the far edge of their protective mat. “Lie back, Crosis... I want to do it again. Do you?”
> 
> “If you keep doing what you are _currently_ doing,” Crosis said, “I will- want to have sex many more times. ...And,” Crosis said, paused, nervously, “ _listen_ , to you. --Tell me what to do.”
> 
> Hugh wondered if Geordi knew about the kind of smiling that could happen when one’s chest malfunctioned and ached as it did from sex.
> 
> But maybe, Hugh supposed, it _wasn’t_ a malfunction, considering how often his chest felt like this when the topic of sex with Crosis was broached. 
> 
> He would have to confirm this later with the others.
> 
> But for now, Hugh realized he _liked_ having his eye shut, and he _liked_ having his holo-imager decoupled while he smiled like this.
> 
> And when Crosis had finally leaned back against their shared mat, Hugh’s hand slid upwards to hold the side of Crosis’ head as he kissed his chest again, then again but in the crook of his _neck_ this time, much deeper than before--
> 
> All because Hugh wanted to.
> 
> A want derived from the ache, the heat, the instinct, and the _heat_ all over again.
> 
> And Hugh let his emerging, _individual_ senses guide him as he heard Crosis moan from the way Hugh kissed his neck.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> **`[MEMORY REROUTE THROUGH SECONDARY OUTLET FOR CATALOGUING: COMPLETE]  
>  >CLEARING REMNANT QUEUE . . . ` **
> 
> * * *

Geordi’s eyes creaked open as the dream slipped away from memory and sight.

His vision managed to focus and read the chronometer on the nightstand. 0241.  
Whatever the dream was, it was vivid. Clear, despite his inability to remember it. 

He also had to _piss_ now, because of it. Or maybe that was from the wine? The champagne probably did it too, he--

And the moment Geordi shifted under the bed, Geordi felt something _else_ besides the need to piss, mentally groaning for his own hardened predicament as it also explained his breathlessness and warmth.

It was also, apparently, a _horny_ dream. 

Maybe if he lied back, it’d go away. Just try and fall asleep again, he thought; the chronometer alarm was gonna go off at 0700, anyway. He could wait, right?

So he tried. 

Three minutes later, his eyes cracked open.

_Nope._

With a quiet sigh, Geordi’s turned his head to Hugh- if not for a self-indulgent glance, and admiration for the man who slept like the dead beside him.

Hugh really _was_ pretty like this, wasn’t he.

But even though he knew Hugh’s xB senses were just as good as Data’s when he actually got the android to “sleep” beside him, Geordi was still horny and had to piss.

He _did_ look pretty out of it. Maybe Geordi could thank the champagne and wine for that, too. Maybe if he was just… real quiet, real quick, turned down the restroom’s dimmer so streaks of light could barely make their way out of the crack--

Okay. He could do this. Slink out of bed, go piss, rub one out, and snuggle back next to Hugh with his exhausted, equally-sexed out xB boyfriend none the wiser.

Geordi took in a breath… and groggily, wormily, quietly and slowly, he managed to hook one leg out from under the sheets, and then his second, finally standing up and nakedly tiptoeing to the restroom, thankful he didn’t have to wrangle the extra shuffle of sheets against nightclothes.

Once he reached the doorframe, his head whipped back to Hugh.

The only differences he spotted were the xB’s hand having shifted, and his mouth open ever the slightest. 

Fuck, what did _that_ mean!? Did he wake him up, was Hugh _going_ to wake up? Nevermind, just go, _go_ , he thought, sliding the door shut… and Geordi sighed, turning the dimmer on by just a hair’s worth as he made it inside, ignoring the hardness for now and--

God, he _really_ had to piss.  
Geordi wondered how good Hugh’s hearing was while he “slept.”

Once he finished the apparent piss of a lifetime, Geordi washed his hands, looked his sleepy self over in the mirror… and relinquished, sighing as he got a bit of lotion and leaned back against the counter to relieve himself further. His head lolled back as his eyes fluttered shut and recounted the day, gala, and night behind him, a more-awake Captain probably able to have some sort of philosophical musing on how he was here, after all the glitz and glamor and delegation, tending to a very basic and _human_ need. 

So instead, the half-asleep Captain thought of Hugh, in his bed. He thought of how nice their evening together was, how good Geordi felt finally being able to be comfortable with someone again, how good Hugh was at kissing and the smoothness of the xB’s voice, and-- 

There was a knock at the door with a voice.  
“Geordi?” 

_Fuck--_

“Are you alright?” 

Geordi was still too sleepy, dumbstruck, and horny to respond properly.

“Uh--”

“I heard you relieving yourself; I know alcohol can cause nausea after a period of sleep, are you--” 

The door began to slide open.

“No no I’m just, wait--” 

But it was too late; for Hugh had opened the door in nothing but Geordi’s borrowed robe, and Geordi watched Hugh’s expression turn from concerned sleepiness, to surprise, shock, realization as his eyes darted up and down the Captain… and eventually, slowly, spread into a wide, knowing smirk with a nod. 

“...Ah, ha.”

“You were _sleeping--_!” Geordi protested. 

Hugh nodded as he rolled his tongue against his cheek. “Mhm?”

“I had a _really_ vivid dream I can’t remember now, I had to _pee,_ it would’ve taken me _forever_ to fall back asleep if I didn’t, and--”

“I’m just. —Impressed,” Hugh laughed, motioning his hand with a fruity little wave as he stared _right_ at Geordi’s dick, “considering everything we did tonight—“

“You can go back to bed, I’ll just, uh- be right there if you’re too—“

“Geordiii,” Hugh cooed, beginning to saunter inside as he shut the door behind him. _“Must_ I remind you, dear; I do not _require_ an even number of hours every single day of regeneration. It keeps me in a proper regiment, certainly, but I promise you I would be _quite_ functional despite a few lost minutes of regenerating, much less _sleeping. You,_ however,” Hugh breathed, and he was now directly in front of Geordi, Geordi listening to the huskiness in his quiet voice and Hugh’s augmented hand rising to hold the back of his neck, “oh, you work so hard, Captain; you must rest. How _cruel_ would I be to not at least _try_ and help you sleep…” 

Hugh kissed him on the lips. “...in _any_ way I could.” 

Geordi grinned. “You sure _you_ didn’t have a really nice dream, either?”

“Less of a _dream_ and more of ‘I thought of some old memories.’”

“Must’ve been some good memories, then.” 

Geordi shuddered as Hugh leaned in further, their shafts pressed up and against one another, as Hugh’s hand found Geordi and began fondling him.

“Some of my most treasured.”


	21. ACT III • KINGDOM OF GOD(S) || forward motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're starting into Month 4 of the Atlas Project! With about 1,500 dormant drones left to reclaim and an xB Borg sphere still teeming with intrigue, what else will we uncover these next 12 weeks?
> 
> Morning-after talks abound, a visitor makes a rather dramatic entrance, and we go for another walk down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU SAW ME POST THIS CHAPTER ONCE NO YOU DIDN'T IT TOTALLY WASN'T A SLIP OF THE HAND || anyway hello i'm alive welcome to part 3 i can't believe i only have abt 8 or 9 chapters left !!! || this xenoanthropology note is actually a copy-paste from that website i was talkin' about in the last chapter, which is now complete and will crosspost all my entries onto that website!!! if you ever wanna use my resource of xB lore/worldbuilding for your own reference, hit up theohniaka3project.com and i hope you enjoy it!!! || part 3 is really gonna ramp up here after these couple of character-focused chapters so enjoy the domestic quiet before the storm :) || new character tags who dis :))) || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**EARTHEN CALENDAR - NOVEMBER 28, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS  
**

> **‘ _Observations of Ohniaka III: A One-Year Liberated Borg Cooperation Societal Documentation_ ,  
> As According to Starfleet Lt. Cmdr. Dr. Amadeus O’Reilly (Edited and Supervised by Reclamation Project Junction Horus)’  
>   
> >Supplemental Material**
> 
> #### INTRODUCTION LETTER FROM THE RECLAMATION PROJECT'S EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR

> _ Before I begin this letter in earnest, I must tell the reader now that former Borg do not often prefer speaking for other former Borg. As principle, we value individual thoughts and voices in the highest regard, and even revel in declaring this sentiment to others upon introduction. _
> 
> _ With this pre-amble concluded, to the xBs that visit this : I thank you for allowing me this opportunity to speak for us regarding our people, our intents, and our livelihoods. _
> 
> _ And to those untouched by the Collective and wish to learn more about the Liberated Borg Cooperation, the Reclamation Project, and the xBs who claim Ohniaka III as their home: welcome.  _
> 
> _ May spontaneity guide you, agency lead you, and clarity wizen you. _
> 
> _ Perhaps you are surprised at the verbal eloquence already in this letter, coming from an xB. Individuals who, upon their first instances of Reprisal, can hardly speak or choose words without the Collective's sudden, near-painful absence. I tell you in earnest; it took many years for me to be able to speak the way I am able to now. _
> 
> _ xBs are a people of paradoxes.  _
> 
> _ We take unity in that fact we have all come from a singular, traumatic Oppressor that bound us to a half-life of collective consciousness. This is our common factor. This is what binds us as xBs. We were once many, we were once each other, and now we are not. The augments that litter our skin, the implants that can be shed, replaced, repaired, and even removed; this is the common factor, the unity- that we carry as individuals. _
> 
> _ Yet in that common factor, in that unity, we find fractals of our experiences. Divergences. Variations, in our emergence from the Collective. "Divergence, variation, fractals:" these are all words the Collective hates, in relation to itself. It will gladly take lives and societies these three words embody and add to the Collective's own mass, certainly, but never apply it to the billions of bodies it inhabits and utilizes. But we, xBs, are are all separated differently, speak differently, and yes: even act differently. What a joyous sensation it is to explore the self and discover habits, likes, dislikes, and yes: even words, in the comfort and camaraderie of those like us. _
> 
> _ We find comfort in the company of those who share our past trauma, yet delight in the people we are now. This, eternally, is the mission of the Reclamation Project: to give xBs a new beginning in this life guided by those like them, and to let them live as their whole selves in the Cooperation. _
> 
> _ The Reclamation Project's motto is a simple one: "Know Thyself." It is to compliment the Cooperation's motto: "Individuality's Needs, Community's Many;" for one must know themselves (at least partially) before being flung into the sometimes-overwhelming world of individuality: of singular life as we know it now rather than the mass of the Collective. _
> 
> _ I offer you a parable that we have begun to speak. "Start, from your beginning, like all xBs do; wherever that beginning may be." No matter what their lives may have been before the Hivemind, all former Borg have a point of beginning, once severed from the Collective; it is when their lives begin in earnest. So too do adventures, endeavors, people, and stories all have beginnings, and I am merely grateful to welcome you as you begin your journey into learning more about us.  _
> 
> _ We wish you peace. We wish you prosperity. We wish you see us as no longer Borg. _
> 
> _Most of all, we wish to live. And that, above all, is treasured beyond all words to those who did not truly live before._   
> 
> 
> #### \--RECLAMATION PROJECT EXEC. DIRECTOR HUGH

Geordi could tell Hugh was already awake.

Even if the xB looked the same every time he slept (face up, straight as a board, completely stiff like he was in an alcove instead), Geordi saw that Hugh was awake, and absolutely faking being asleep.

Because Data used to lure him in with the exact same thing. 

If Geordi was the first one “awake,” Data would simply lie in bed for Geordi's audience. On duty, Data was always analyzing, computing, and observing, the android absorbing whatever he could into his infinite ether of a positronic net. In bed, however, and even though Data did not truly “sleep,” the sight of the android so still, so peaceful, and so quiet was a beautiful sight that Geordi truly savored, the engineer counting his lucky stars that he had woken up a smidge _early_ for once. 

And when Data let Geordi rouse him from that makeshift slumber, oh- that’s when the fun started. Geordi, still groggy from _actual_ sleep and his mind sputtering to life (with or without his VISOR pawed from the nightstand), could feel like putty in Data’s hands, knowing that his morning-time variability fascinated Data. All human activity did, granted; it was what Data studied so hard to emulate and to embody, but Geordi was his and his alone in this space to study and to learn from. All of Data’s processors would be utterly transfixed on him after some form of “good morning Geordi” left his synthetic lips, the android cocking his head with polite perplexment and a raised eyebrow as his algorithms tried to formulate what Geordi was about to say or do next.

So Geordi would make sure that putty was engaging for Data. Sometimes he’d gripe and groan to Data about a scheduled shift that was annoyingly long, and sometimes he’d reach hungrily for Data’s eager-to-engage lips, satisfying Geordi’s very _human_ needs before an even _longer_ shift. Sometimes Geordi could play word games with the android all morning until the android scolded him out of bed, their dialogue of exchanged wit and mutual education jumpstarting the gears in Geordi’s sleepy morning brain.

A part of Geordi missed those mornings with Data. No matter how many years would pass or whatever person entered his life, Geordi knew it might linger with him forever.   
It was the inevitable cost of loving someone, he supposed.

But that part had grown a lot less bitter, lately. Instead, it had become a lot more tender. A lot more treasured.

Geordi wondered what habits he’d be able to notice about Hugh, given a few more months. The Captain could name a handful of things, so far; Hugh slept like the dead, he had beautiful bedhead, nightmares came to him quietly and revealed themselves to Geordi through shuddering, stiffened breaths, and Hugh was a very brave man for being willing to forgo an alcove even a couple days each week to share a bed with Geordi. 

The Captain’s grin grew into a smile.

Data and Hugh were two men who, in their own ways, loved learning about the world. About life.   
And Geordi La Forge felt very blessed to be sought after, included in, and loved as those two men lived, learned, and existed as their very unique selves.

The back of Geordi’s finger began to ghost over the spider web rivets in Hugh’s cheek. 

As the xB’s mouth twitched, Geordi's face settled into a smirk, readjusting the arm and fist that propped his head up against the pillow.

“Caught ya.”

Hugh snorted. “You ‘caught me?’”

“Uh-huh, I sure did; how long were you gonna fake being asleep?” 

The xB’s eyes creaked open. “As long as I _could_ before 0700 hours.”

“Were you gonna wake me up?”

“Your alarm would have accomplished that.”

“Then why were _you_ up?” 

He watched Hugh mull over the question under the covers. 

“It takes... former Borg a long time to be comfortable in silence. Stillness. _Peace,_ even. It is… nice, knowing I’m able to be in that space,” Hugh explained as he scooched upwards, “much less with you.”

> _What a sap._

Geordi licked his lips. “What’s your internal chronometer say?”

“06… 51,” Hugh said with a long, cat-like yawn, and it was the biggest yawn Geordi had ever seen him do, what was _that!_ Geordi couldn’t help himself, he gave into that playfulness that only morningtime silliness could lend; leaning in, he cusped his hands around the xB’s face who watched him with wide-eyed thrill, Geordi crooning “what was thaaaat!” over and over as he smothered Hugh in kisses. He could almost _sense_ Hugh begin to assign words and emotions to Geordi’s spontaneity, finally feeling the xB begin to wriggle in his hands and kiss him back amidst quiet laughter and shuffling sheets. 

It was times like this when the bitter part of Geordi that missed Data actually felt warm again.

“Good morning,” Geordi cooed.

And he watched Hugh take his own spontaneity by the reigns as he kissed Geordi in return.

“Good morning, Geordi.”

> `[g ood morn i ng]`

The men finally untangled their naked selves and Geordi reached for his PADD, making sure to turn his alarm off as he nestled back into Hugh’s shoulder. “So," the xB asked as he grabbed his own PADD, "what is Captain La Forge’s itinerary today?”

“Welllllll,” Geordi sighed, “let’s see here… send off the Admiral, gonna go check to see how Deck 2’s lookin’ after last night… reply to _all these messages_ we got sent overnight, gotta add commendation notes to attending personnel- paperwork, paperwork, _more_ paperwork… aand,” Geordi finished with, punching in something new on his planner, “gotta talk to a certain big guy today.”

Hugh’s brow cocked. “Crosis?” 

“Mhm. Didn’t really get a chance to _chat_ with him after my promotion, and the Gala was its _own_ spectacle. But I— feel like that’s something I oughta do. Considering everything.”

“'Everything,’ being...?”

“I guess just-- talk, really. You and Crosis have a long history together, Hugh; I wouldn’t feel right coming into your life like I am without at _least_ making my intentions plain to someone who’s _also_ known you like that.” 

“You are asking for his ‘blessing,’ then?”

Geordi chuckled. “Yeah... I guess I am.”

Hugh merely smiled, looking down at his lap and letting his weight lean more against Geordi’s shoulder. Geordi, in response, moved his arm behind Hugh's neck and shoulders to caress and massage the other side of Hugh’s head, as if he was giving Mimi her afternoon pets. 

“You still love him, don’t you.”

Hugh was quiet as Geordi kneaded the divot scar of long gone exo-plating.

“I do,” Hugh said, “I always will, Geordi. In a— different way than I love _you_ now, but… yes.” 

Geordi could tell Hugh so many things in response to that. He could tell him how Geordi also loved the same people, the same friends he stood with last night- how he understood the love for people that ran so much thicker than water, than blood, than all the memories they had shared...

But it was still very early and Geordi needed his first cup of coffee, so he settled on pulling Hugh’s head against his own, basking in the morning-time peace.

“I know.”

“You don’t hold that against me, do yo—“

“No,” he assured, “no, never. How dare I if I did, y’know; barging in and telling you how to feel about other people? That’s… uh-uh. No.”

“Thank you. I am glad.” 

“Any time.”

The xB pondered something by pursing his lips and looking for words.

“Speak gently to Crosis, should you mention the past,” Hugh told Geordi. “For my friend, as much as he tries to make peace with himself… it haunts him. The past is the one thing we cannot change about our individual selves, and his many months' worth of servitude to a wicked android weighs heavy on my friend's heart.”

Geordi listened carefully. “Crosis apologized for what happened with me, Hugh,” Geordi sighed. “Everything else he did… was it really that bad?” 

Hugh swallowed. “To him, yes. And it always will be, I fear.”

Geordi tried to go looking for words, as Hugh would put it, but he still needed that cup of coffee. 

So instead, Geordi moved to kiss Hugh by his spider web implant. “Thanks for the tip.” 

“Of course.”

“Now, we got…" he squinted at the PADD's chronometer during a stretch, " _fiiiive_ minutes until we gotta get up; what do _you_ have scheduled for today, Director Hugh?”

"It seems very similar to yours," Hugh said, "though I do notice one _immediate_ difference."

"Oh?" 

"Yes, actually..."

Geordi looked up at the clatter of a PADD returning to its nightstand, and Hugh was rolling to his side to latch onto Geordi. Already, he was proving himself harder to get off than a Terralite flea, considering how sweetly Hugh clung to his body and how potent the kiss was that he smushed into Geordi's cheek. "you're actually not _awake_ yet by this time, according to your schedule- I _insist_ you complete your full cycle of rest."

Geordi, in return, chuckled warmly and also abandoned his PADD, groaning as he nestled against the other. "Okay, okay you... don't go to sleep on me, now." 

"I'll try not to." 

And while those blissful five minutes ended with the gentle trill of a PADD's alarm, the day began with its own bliss in the form of a shared sonic shower, tending to hickeys and bruises from last night with dermal generators, and parting kisses before leaving Geordi's quarters that were flavored with sugared coffee and Puerh tea. 

With freshly replicated day uniforms, Geordi rounded the hall's corner with Hugh at his side, and leaning against the support with arms crossed was Admiral Janeway with Seven of Nine behind her, and Geordi loathed how much he felt the color drain from his face and how he could hear Hugh stop dead in his tracks.

He nearly had to catch Hugh, and himself, from falling backwards.

“Admiral Jane… way!” Geordi sputtered, licking his lips and crossing his arms over his chest, “good morning!” 

“My sentiments exactly,” Hugh echoed nervously, “g-good morning, Admiral-”

“What, ah-- you both already up and at ‘em after last night?"

“I certainly am, as much as _you_ two gentlemen seem to be,” Janeway chimed, straightening her stance as Seven watched her. “Tell me Captain, Director; as far as I can recall, the _xB Wing_ for Reclamation Project staffer quarters and offices are on the other _side_ of this deck, aren’t they? To account for regeneration alcove energy reroutes?”

Fuck.   
God damn it _.  
Shit. _

Geordi’s hand was already holding his face with a long sigh, the corner of his eye noticing Hugh fidgeting nervously with his hands. 

But Geordi, not a second later, realized that a Starfleet scolding never came, and instead Janeway was watching them both with… amusement? Humor? Whatever, it was too early to try and play thesaurus; Hugh’s mind was probably already on that for both their sakes.

Come on Admiral, he thought bitterly. Do whatever you’re gonna do, write me up however you--

With a smirk, her eyes darted back and forth between the Captain and Director. “How good’s the coffee in your Ready Room’s replicator, Captain?” Janeway asked smoothly. “I feel like we could all have a nice, long debrief over my second morning cup.”

A stupified Geordi was still staring at Janeway with Hugh, when an apparently-bored Seven rolled her eyes and tilted her head. 

“The Admiral is not here to _discipline_ you for your ‘extended fraternization,’ if that’s what causes your hesitation.”

Janeway sighed as relief washed over Geordi, and a similar mental wave from Hugh roiled in tandem with his. 

“Must you spoil _everything_ I try and set up, Seven-” 

“It’s a _minor_ deflation of ego; your pride will recover.” 

* * *

**STATION CAPTAIN'S READY ROOM**

Hugh stared at the letters, proposals, notes of gratitude- his internal UI flitting through the absently scrolling text as best he could, despite his surprise. 

To his inner delight, he heard Geordi scoff, noticing the Captain’s hand moving to rub at his beard in what was, most likely, disbelief. 

“20?!” Geordi exclaimed with his wonderful laugh. “You’re kidding me; _20_ proposals of--?!”

“I _told_ you this was a debrief. I have _40_ to go through; consider yourselves lucky. Outer star system message buoys with Bajoran compliance,” Janeway started, “tritanium exports, medical internships from Starfleet: the works. Unfortunately, not _all_ 20 of these letters are the... nicest, despite the Reclamation Project's best efforts, but..."

"One night cannot change longstanding mindsets about byproducts from the _Borg,_ of all things," Hugh sighed roughly. "Right. We know this very well by now."

"It wasn't all a wash, Hugh. From what I'm already seeing, you either planted some seeds last night, or wedged your foot in the door hard enough for the well-intended people to find a way through. After all: it's been five years since the Synthetic Ban, and I anticipate those same people are itching to start exploring this realm of sciences again. I have my _own_ opinions with regards to that… very _distasteful_ and _reactionary_ sentiment of a policy,” Janeway said with a frown, “but at least there are those trying to keep that fire warm.” 

“I am glad the Federation is aware the Cooperation and Reclamation Project remain staunchly opposed to the Ban.”

She grimaced. “Something HQ and the Romulan embassy _love_ reminding me of. But before we start in with the proposals and what-ifs within,” Janeway hummed, “I think it’s better we start off discussing something we know a little more _concretely_ , hmm? Something we’re all aware of.”

At the Admiral’s side, Seven got comfortable in her seat, and that dread began to creep in despite the xB’s earlier assurances.

Geordi spoke up first. “I would’ve debriefed you about us the _moment_ the Project was done, Admiral.”

“The Cooperation understands personal intimacy and relations with other individuals in a much different interpretation than Starfleet protocol does, Admiral,” Hugh tried to offer. “I said nothing because I did not want the Captain to be affected by policy. You... must understand, Admiral; so many of us... xBs, at least, know and interact with other individuals in a way you…”

Hugh looked at the Admiral as he spoke. Her stare held steady.

“That you would… unders...st…”

He stopped.  
Buried deep within her flesh and blood and bone, Janeway eyes held billions of familiar stars in her eyes.  
And the Director, in all his pre-Ready Room anxiety, had forgotten that Janeway _did_ understand- even if Hugh had been disconnected long before her physical time within the Hive.

> _"Even if your mind was not within us, oh… we were in its audience."_

Considering the woman at the Admiral’s side with a ring on her hand, Hugh let out a very long sigh.

“My apologies, Admiral. You _do_ know.” 

“I do. It's fine, it was... after your time in the Collective, and all.”

Geordi looked between the three. “I’m missing something. And something’s telling me that’s... not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Depending on what you’re _referring_ to when you say ‘bad,’ Captain,” Janeway said with a shrug.

“I’d like to think Captain La Forge gets the _good_ end of it.”

Seven nodded. “You _know_ he gets the 'good end' of it; do not trivialize that.”

Janyway leaned in and folded her hands on the desk, tapping her thumbs together once.

Twice.

Three times.

“Gentlemen,” Janeway started, “ _Voyager_ spent seven years trying to get home through the Delta Quadrant. And in those seven years, we learned a lot about a part of the galaxy we’d barely begun to scratch the surface of. We learned about... different worlds, different technologies, different species; stuff that freshly-minted Captains could hardly ever _dream_ of. But I think, most importantly- for all those lofty reports we spent endless hours writing, and all those logs of civilizations we encountered who may never see Starfleet again… we learned about other people. About each _other_. And our dear Intrepid with her motley crew wouldn’t have made it without those bonds we all forged. Some of them were expected, _unexpected-_ some took longer than others to make themselves known, some had their dramatic revelations...”

Janeway, absently, pawed for Seven’s hand on the table.  
Seven slid her augmented palm into Janeway’s grasp to meet her in the middle, and Janeway’s lips firmed into a smile.

“Some of them just made sense, after a while. And not all of them were exactly according to _protocol._ ”

Hugh calculated, formulated, postulated what Janeway’s actions inferred she was trying to do… and he believed he understood, an appreciative grin dimpling the Director’s cheeks.

It seemed as if this phenomenon was contagious to Seven _particularly_ , as Hugh actually caught her trying to stifle a smile.

His friend had a beautiful smile when she decided to share it- however small it may be.

“All this to say, Sirs,” Janeway continued, unwilling to surrender Seven’s hand just yet, “as your supervising Admiral: I am duty-bound to trust you both as station co-managers, but also determine whether or not your chosen methods are affecting this Project's workflow. Considering your context, you have an obvious history together that I'm not about to try and drive a wedge through. And if this Project has run this smoothly so far _because_ of that bond you’re sharing, then what's my own Starfleet protocol to keep you apart. After all: you spoke up to correct a very… _superficial_ scheduling placation for Starfleet personnel who were stuck up in their prejudice,” she admitted, “and we thank you for that accountability. _I_ thank you, at least. Just... be smart, is all I ask,” she sighed, “take care of each other. La Forge, I think you already know this song and dance when it comes to fraternization around other officers, right? You know protocol; don’t be too obvious, no overt PDA- _please_ don’t make me have to tell HQ you’re ‘very good friends’ too many times...”

“Of course, Admiral,” La Forge agreed quietly, “I think that’s something we can manage; right, Director?”

How could Geordi speak so quickly, after everything the Admiral had said? How was he able to find the words so readily, so easily? Hugh felt so… seen, by Seven and Janeway. So watched. But not “observed” in a negative manner, no- not in a way that it was inherently repulsive, but… her, and Seven’s journey, their “bond,” it must have been similar to his and Geordi’s, if not--

“Hugh?” 

He was pulled out of his very “bewildered” train of thought as Geordi placed a hand on his shoulder, Hugh’s attention returning to the women opposite.

“I, ah… thank you, Admiral Janeway. Truly, it- means more to me than I can describe, currently. I assure you, Geordi has been very responsible this entire Project regarding personal affairs, his interactions with Reclamation Project personnel have been spoken of in well regard, and--”

“You don’t have to make a case for yourself through Captain La Forge, Director,” she stopped Hugh with a wave of her hand. “As your supervising Admiral, I’m telling you both now there’s no need to worry from my administrative side of things. I can't speak for other officers, but you have my guarantee. Alright?”

Janeway paused before continuing. “I’ve seen for myself what former Borg have to fight for. The least I could do for you both, who are helping _thousands_ of xBs fight to _find_ and _remake_ themselves after what they’ve been through, is help make your personal lives a little more ‘enriched.’ A little easier. ...One less thing to fight for, and all.”

Words, neither auditory or in the quiet reverb of his mind, could embody the relief that he felt wash through them both. Hugh may have not feared Starfleet moral jurisdictions, but he respected their administrative rules, and he knew what this love might do to Geordi’s standing within Starfleet. Finally, the subtle fear and apprehension of being caught was gone; like the sun would emerge over a cloud or thunder that rolled Ohniakan mountaintops would herald fresh rain, Geordi's slurry of emotion took that fear's place, and became a sweet ache Hugh felt tangentially lost in.

“Well, gentlemen,” the Admiral sighed as she got comfortable in her seat. “We still have some work to do. Director, Seven: would you two be willing to go on a walk? The Captain and I have some special Starfleet material to review before we address joint-collaboration subjects.”

Hugh raised an eyebrow. “Nothing we need to be concerned about if I leave the room, right?”

“It’s a surprise for _you_ , specifically,” Janeway alluded. “But we can’t quite promise anything yet.”

Seven shot Hugh a look, and it was laced with the same small smile she’d suppressed before. 

It was a _good_ surprise, apparently. 

So out the Ready Room Seven and Hugh walked, down the hall towards the xB Wing of _Solstice._

“Why did you not tell me about your relationship?” Seven asked, no sooner than the doors whooshed shut.

Hugh frowned. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you, Seven. I did not want you in an unfavorable position to Admiral Janeway, make it appear as if I was trading _secrets..._ or have you keeping information from someone you love. I apologize for not telling you, but I hope my explanations suffice.”

Seven was surprised at his frankness, even for an xB. 

So she tilted her head. “I, uh… I appreciate it.” 

“Of course.”

“Are you happy with the Captain?”

“I would need to find many words by which to completely describe that sentiment, Seven.”

“I determine _very_ happy, then.”

“Very.”

They continued walking. 

“Your speech last night was impressive, Hugh.”

“It comforts me to hear you think so. Thank you.”  
“Does it?”  
“Yes. ...Why do you ask for me to repeat myself?”

“I would like to know… _why,_ I suppose,” Seven offered. “Why my approval brings comfort.” 

“For... _many_ reasons,” Hugh explained as they reached the xB Wing’s main lobby. “You are a Fenris Ranger; you are an active agent associated with the Cooperation, and you bring those who would steal from us or use our bodies as currency to justice. You are a close confidant to the Admiral; I believe you know her well enough to warrant judgment of character for her supervision. But as an overarching explanation, Seven- it is because you are my friend. And as my friend, I value your opinion very highly.” 

Hugh smirked again when he sensed that he’d left her in another silent surprise, meandering over to a replicator. “May I offer you some tea, Seven?” 

“Are you able to replicate a decaffeinated version?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then I will have tea. Thank you.” 

After ordering two cups, Hugh meandered across the wing’s lobby with drinks in both hands, offering Seven a gently steaming mug and he sat opposite to her at a small table. 

Hugh took a sip, and it was good. 

Seven smacked some. “This is Puerh, yes?”

“You remember.”

“It's a very... _earthy_ tea,” she explained herself with, “it proves itself a hard taste to forget. I _also_ remember... because the Puerh _you_ make on Ohniaka III is better, Hugh.” 

“Thank you. If it is true you intend to visit more, I will prepare it as much as you like.”

A reserved laugh could almost be heard through the smiles they exchanged, and Hugh was happy to relax in silence with his friend.

“Did you have a good time last night?”

Seven looked up over the rim of her cup. “I have never _liked_ large groups,” she reminded him, “but it was worth it for what I observed, and was able to take part in.”

“Thank you for staying as late as you did, despite your dislike.” 

“The Reclamation Project demonstrations were informative. Kathryn enjoyed herself. It was good to speak again with the people of _Voyager’s_ crew. My, _own_ friends. And… I think it reminded me of _what_ I am doing my work in the Beta Quadrant for, Hugh. You have… built very much here,” she told him, “you and the other xBs. I am doing what I can to protect that.” 

Hugh’s cheeks dimpled despite his eyes feeling heavy. “You helped make it possible, Seven. If you and the Doctor’s crew had not come when you did, I don’t know what we would’ve done.” 

“Let’s not think on that.” 

Hugh was bringing his mug to his lips. “No.” 

They were quiet again.  
It was a good silence.

“I _did_ mean what I said, Hugh,” she told him. “I’ll visit Ohniaka III more. I have always preferred to be working- and… this job, moreso than others, I can heavily invest myself in. But I’ve found that as much as I _do_ invest myself…” 

“You _lose_ yourself,” Hugh offered. “Because you become… so _much_ of the work. Given my own experiences with working for the Reclamation Project, I-- understand you, somewhat.”

“I’ll be around more. Visit you, the-- actual _city,_ Icheb, more than once a year. ...visit Marika.”

That was a name Seven had not spoken of in a long time. 

“Last night’s events caused me to think of her again, Hugh,” Seven admitted, her eyes distant as she wistfully watched his surprise. “She would have been happy to see this, I think. Knowing that people like her were thriving.”

“From what you have told me of her, I would like to think so, too.” 

He smiled again, and before Seven could let them both slip back into another round of quiet, she spoke: “You should do your makeup like you had it more frequently.”

And instead of silence, Hugh smirked and squirmed in his seat, drumming his fingers on the side of his cup and his augmented hand clinking against it. “Visit Ohniaka III more, and you’ll see me _far_ prettier than what workplace-efficient uniforms allow me.”

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
RECREATIONAL ROOM 1**

With the Admiral and the Ranger sent off on their little runabout, Geordi dug his heels into tackling his massive post-Gala to-do list. While much if it dealt with updating personal officer records, reviewing grounds sites, and verifying what proposals were coming in from which delegates, it was a busywork that Geordi was content to lose himself in after the spectacle of last night. Thankfully, he was able to spare a few moments during the day to respond to the personal messenger app on his PADD, trading photos and messages of well-to-dos back and forth with five officers he'd known and loved since the 2360s.

And after the chronometer had managed to creep into the Starbase's twilight hours, Geordi managed to reach that "talk to the big guy" section he'd blocked out on the schedule. 

"Computer," the Captain called, "locate Director Second Crosis." 

_" <Recreational Room 1 as of 1730.>"_

At least he knew it wasn't wrestling club or something.   
_That_ happened on the Command Juggernaut.

As a shirtless Crosis straightened from socking a training dummy at hearing the door woosh open behind him, Geordi took a moment to look over the man who had a far different Reclamation history as opposed to drones this Project was excavating. Some remnants like Crosis' top surgery scars, his right hand’s metal ligament that branched from wrist-laiden assimilation tubules, and the patches of metal that rippled the surface of his skin were universal for a plethora of xBs, Geordi knew by now. But there was evidence of a deeper, greater history painted across Crosis’ body: the ports where hydraulics cables once snaked around his skin seemed jagged and uneven, and scars closer to slashes and disruptor shots rather than leftovers from surgeries left strokes across his biceps and waist. Most strikingly, a Starfleet phaser blast scar was sprawled across the middle of his chest, speckled with embedded leftovers of exo-plating, gnarled tissue, dark veins, and burn marks that could only be from a dermal regenerator set on too high a frequency in either desperation or hurried treatment.

“Captain La Forge!” Crosis chimed with a grunt, unwrapping his metal-free hand of a protective bandage as he turned around. “What may I do for you?” 

Geordi grinned with a raised brow. “Not interrupting, am I?” 

“Hardly at all; simply working off everything I _indulged_ myself in last night,” he humored. “I hope the Starfleet side of post-Gala work has been going as desired?” 

“Got everyone sent off, and the Admiral tells me guests are prepping writeups and return proposals as we speak. A lot of them were impressed with the Consultation Division’s work, Crosis,” Geordi told him in confidence, “if they weren’t _shocked_ by everything else first.” 

“Well, what do they think we’re _doing_ out on Ohniaka III,” Crosis joked, “putting our hands in the soil and injecting nanoprobes into the planet?” 

Geordi made a face as Crosis rolled his eyes. “We thought about it to help enrich crop growth. The idea didn’t get very far. But I thank you for the praise, Captain.”

“Least I could do was spare a compliment, considering you and Hugh were the big talkers of the evening.”

And then Geordi scrunched his lips, letting out a hard sigh before continuing: “Do you have a minute, Crosis? Or were you- gonna change, or--” 

“I do,” he said, “and I was _not_ , unless you would prefer me to. Why- what do you require?” 

“Great. Well, I uh…”

Geordi folded his arms over his chest, running a hand down his mouth. He mulled the dialogue over in his head; _Hey buddy, mind putting on a shirt while I ask for your best friend’s/former boyfriend’s hand in a long-term relationship?_

Didn’t sound too great.

"Maybe just sit? It's nothing bad, it..."

Crosis, complying, took a seat on the bench and waited for the Captain.  
That'd do it.

“Crosis, you came to me a while back,” Geordi started, “to apologize for something that happened 23 years ago. Almost 24, now. And that… takes a lot of guts for a person to do.”

Crosis listened. 

“I wanted to…” Geordi paused to lick his lips again, why was this so hard suddenly?, “pay it forward, I guess. ...No no, not ‘I guess,’ I-- know. I know what I’m doing. I wanted to-- come to you, not only out of respect for what you came to _me_ with, but because I can see what you mean to someone who I care a lot about.”

Geordi sighed, kicking his own tendency to stall for the sake of his nerves as he plopped himself next to Crosis. 

“All this to say, Crosis… I bet Hugh’s already told you what happened before my promotion.” 

Crosis, finally, smiled underneath his mustache. “He did.”

“Knew it.” 

Geordi wondered how on earth he could continue, suddenly feeling a lot like Hugh as he tried to pick up a mental soup of words, and--

“Captain?” 

Geordi turned his head up from the ground to look Crosis in the eyes.  
Eye, rather.

“May I take your hands?” 

He looked to the Director Second with a sudden befuddlement, darting between his and Crosis’ large palms…

But Geordi remembered, quite suddenly, in a mental surge that he could probably chalk up to Hugh, how important touch was to xBs, and he murmured a quiet, hesitant “sure” as the Director Second took the Captain’s hands in his.

“When I returned with Hugh to his quarters that night,” Crosis started, “he wept against me in a way I haven’t seen in a very long time. I had to assure him to... _accept_ that love you offer, Captain, and it took him a while to promise me he would before I left. It might… seem _strange,_ for a man who loves the world as much as he does to have a hard time _accepting_ love, but I believe I can explain.”

Geordi was compliant, letting Crosis do whatever he wanted to with his hands. “By all means.” 

Crosis continued. “While Hugh does what he does for the Reclamation Project all out of genuine love for his people, _our_ people, I believe much of his work is also a sort of… ‘penance,’” Crosis tried to explain, “for the consequences of what he inadvertently caused. Helped create. I have told him many times, in my clarity, that toiling over the past is inefficient. That it is poisonous to think this way, because that is something I must convince _myself_ is true. But for as… ‘inefficient’ and ‘poisonous’ as it may be, it is not wrong. His arrival to Cube 5219 _did_ have consequences. And I am here, holding your hands now, _because_ of those consequences.”

Crosis paused. 

“I heard him say something very poignant to you, when we pulled Id from her Queencell,” he said gently behind his ruffling mustache. “He asked if you, the one who pulled him into this world, would help keep him _anchored_ to it. ...My experiences with Hugh have shown me that we can waver in our own grounding, sometimes,” Crosis admitted. “It-- we have kept each other stable, many times in our lives, and--”

> _Finish the line, Geordi._

“He loves you, Crosis,” Geordi said point-blank. “And I don’t ever intend to get in between the bond you two still have.” 

The el-Aurian’s mustache wriggled again as he pondered Geordi's words and began to nod.

“I think,” Crosis said, surrendering Geordi’s hands with a parting squeeze, “that is all I needed to hear. Thank you. I trust him with you, Captain.”

Geordi couldn’t help but smirk, if not to try and shrug off the crushing ache in his chest. “Y’know… I don’t think I’ve heard you call me by my actual name yet this _entire_ Project, Crosis,” Geordi chuckled. “It’s fine, I’m not gonna break out Starfleet Protocol on you.”

Crosis laughed in return. “I don’t think I _know_ any non-xBs on a ‘first name basis,’ Captai-- ...Geordi. If I’m allowed, the gesture is appreciated.”

And Geordi nodded, unable to imagine how vast the concept of “allowance” was to an xB.

“Least I could do.”

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - DECEMBER 7, 2391]  
** **VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'  
_ CONVERTED QUEENCELL COMMAND STATION**

“Seal off Deck 5- order all Reclamation Project personnel out or have them emergency beamed out to Deck 7 for temporary lockdown-”

“All Starfleet officers evacuate Deck 5, I repeat; evacuate Deck 5 and prepare for emergency beam-out if you are unable to leave; do _not_ open fire on should you see the hostile! I repeat: security personnel, do _not_ open fire!”

Geordi winced as he heard a hard bellow on the other end of comms over Red Alert’s alarm, happy to at _least_ be seeing dozens of dots make it to turbolifts or watch them beam out.

Vorik, thankfully, gave him some good news. “I have a lock on Junctions Five and V’evik, sirs.”

“Good, _hold onto_ it-- Junctions, you hear that? Get to that turbolift and we’ll have you out of there-”

“You are 30 meters to the nearest access,” Hugh said evenly, his eyes watching the hologram floorplan and their location markers, “at this forthcoming intersection, turn right, and _go-”_

_“Yessirs!”_

“Atlas, open the doors for them-”

“Already done, Director-”

Geordi didn’t think his first on-site crisis as a Captain would involve an extra-terrestrial tardigrade barreling down a Borg sphere’s hallways, chasing after a lead Engineer and Cyberneticist.

Guess now he knew how Picard felt every time he had to watch him and _Data_ endure something downright ludicrous all the way down in Engineering from the Bridge.

Before this, it had been a business-as-usual day aboard the sphere. V’evik and Five were investigating a fixture into one of Deck 5’s walls to see if it could provide any answers to the fungi-filled Chamber 5873 with taken samples on their person, all Geordi, Hugh, Atlas, Crosis, Vorik, and EMH reviewing weekly reports and discussing scans of the Chamber. Suddenly, without any explanation as to how it got there other than a “flash of blue light and an influx of ion/tachyon energy,” a massive creature was at the end of the Junction’s hallway, rumbling and glowering as Five shone a flashlight on it. Five and V’evik, understandably stunned and stowing their fungal samples, pinged the sphere’s old Queencell to notify Geordi and Hugh of this sudden presence, trying to confirm whether or not this thing before them actually _was_ a Tardigrade... and at the light of the flashlight, it burbled, glowered, and roared, immediately beginning hot pursuit to startled hollers and desperate yells to clear the way, clear the way as they ran. The sudden surge in tachyon particles were preventing temporary force field containment as V’evik and Five ran for their lives from the beast, and the sphere was thrust into site-wide Red Alert.

While the Captain had heard his fair share of shit-scared-out-of-them Starfleet personnel, Geordi had never heard a Vulcan yell quite like V'evik had. 

Geordi held his chin as he stared at their holographic markers.

_Come on._

“15 meters!”

_Come on._

“10!”

Geordi felt his heart drop at hearing the tardigrade clamor and roar through the hallway over their combadges.

“Five meters!”

After a few more painful seconds, the two dots reached the turbolift chamber.

“It has been sealed,” Atlas called.

Claws could be heard scraping and tearing at the metal door. 

_“HURRY!”_ begged Five.

“Vorik-”

“Energizing now, Captain-”

And the two Junctions suddenly materialized in Atlas’ renovated Queencell, the two holding each other as if they’d scooted up against the walls of the turbolift. Their eyes were wide and both human and Vulcan xBs were dotted with sweat, chests heaving from their running and obvious panic. Though everyone neared the arrivals and EMH dropped to his knee for a tricorder scan, Crosis immediately stooped in front of them as Five and V’evik began to unhitch themselves from each other, the Director Second trying to help them calm down. 

“You’re both fine,” Crosis urged, “you’re safe. Breathe. Are you injured?”

Five swallowed, nodding quickly. “It-- was close, but… y-yes. No, I mean, yes, we’re… haha, ha…” 

And even though Five kept gasping for breath and her eyes were still wide, she laughed once, twice… and lied back on the sphere’s metallic floor, laughing in what Geordi knew as pure fucking relief. 

“T-thank you... for--” V’evik said with a swallow, “closing, the-- turbolift door, Atlas.”

“Of course, Junction.” 

Geordi sighed. “Glad to have you both out of there.”

Hugh let out a shuddering breath. “As Director, I authorize you both to be released from the rest of active duty today. …I lack words to say how happy I am you’re unharmed.” 

“To confirm, that was… the only subject you observed?” Vorik asked from the console. “No others?”

“Yes Commander,” V’evik confirmed, “just one.”

Atlas’ eyes were flashing before he returned his attention back to them. “I detect no other similar life signs, sirs. It is, indeed, the only one.”

“What’s it _doing_ now anyway, Vorik,” Geordi remembered, turning his attention back to the Commander and his screen. “Is it still where it was?” 

“I believe so, Captain,” Vorik confirmed. “It did not enter into the turbolift car nor track any further. It is… meandering, as best as I’m able to detect.” 

“‘Meandering?’”

“It is not actively pursuing anyone or any _thing_ else,” Vorik explained. “And the entire Deck has been evacuated, according to the map.” 

So they had a tardigrade stuck in a hallway and no idea how it got there or _why_ it was there. 

Great. 

“I would like Troval's assistance, if they are not occupied with a procedure currently,” EMH called. "She studied the creature's initial sequencing first, and I need time to properly _parse_ whatever information Atlas' archives may lend me." 

“Should we... request Hyades too, then?” Crosis asked, helping Five and V’evik stand up. “Find a common factor in all this, considering what happened to her and...?”

Geordi and Hugh traded looks.  
It wasn’t a completely unfounded guess.

“Let’s… figure what the hell it’s _doing here_ first, before anything. See what Troval says.”

“Agreed.”

Turned out that yes, Troval _did_ need the Wysanti xB with freshly-embedded tardigrade DNA.

Half an hour later, the Medical Junction was free from a Reclamation Procedure and pulled aboard Atlas, fresh teal gloves snapped on and a mask dangling around their neck as they reviewed PADD data and scanned Hyades with their tricorder. While Troval’s brow was furrowed and buried deep in thought, Hyades’ eyes were wide as she watched the holographic cutaway of the tardigrade, Geordi noticing her thin hand rubbing absently at the implants on her forearm. Hyades’ eyes, brown and blue and scarred above and below, were watchful of Geordi- apparently mesmerized by the mere fact he chose to walk towards her. Every day, more of Hyades’ freckles were wrenched from nanoprobe-stained paleness and the skin around her implants was a little less swollen, and it marvelled Geordi as he could watch an xB blossom in real time.

“Whaddya think?” Geordi asked her. “I can’t see the resemblance, personally.”

Hyades squinted. “You are… referring to-- relation?” she asked, “in-- terms of physical similarities... is this because of my genetic incorporation and sequencing from the tardigrade DNA?” 

“You got it.” 

“But I did not-- have any _immediate_ physical changes, upon my inoculation.”

“Thankfully, no. Think you would’ve given us an even _worse_ scare than you already did if that happened, too.” 

Geordi watched Hyades swallow. “No. I would not have liked that. I am-- still becoming…” she wrung her hands, “this? Body? No, it was…” she shook her head, then called: “Director Second Crosis, what is the phrase? You said it yesterday, it’s hard to access, _remember_ right now--”

Crosis, with a warm grin, looked up from a screen. “‘Getting used to it?’”

“Yes!” she snatched at his words, “Captain, I am-- ‘getting used to it.’ My current ‘self.’ I think it would be hard getting used to… _another_ self,” Hyades followed through with, “when I am still… adjusting to this unit. Voi-body, body- sorry. I change slowly, but it is still… much to-- process sometimes. Do you understand?” 

Behind her, working at a shared station, Geordi caught V’evik and Five trading pleased little looks with each word Hyades spoke.

Even V’evik had the faintest hint of a grin on their lips.

“I think so, Hyades,” Geordi told her. “Seems like you’ve got good teachers and good people around helping you, too.” 

“No! --or, yes! But _better_ than good!” she exclaimed, taking his hands suddenly and Geordi chuckling from her enthusiasm. xBs and their hand-holding, he swore: “The Junction V’evik built me a new leg, Five helped an alcove work for me! Look, look- do you see? Junction Troval and the EMH; they helped reseal my wrist tubule ports!” Hyades flashed her hand to the Captain, and Troval was trying _very_ hard to hide a proud little smile. “Director Second Crosis... he lets me talk, Captain La Forge. He is very nice to talk to. I talk so much that I find it easier. Director Hugh, too! A-and Atlas, he walks with Director Second Crosis and I in Chamber 5378, and…”

As Hyades pointed everyone out and looked to them as she spoke, she trailed off, noticing everyone’s very flattered, very humbled facial expressions. 

“Hyades,” Geordi said kindly as he watched her, “you’re saying some _very_ nice things right now that I think are _very_ much flustering the people you’re talking about.”

The Wysanti surrendered his hands as she spoke: “Is this flustering a… good thing?” Hyades asked quickly, “a bad thing? But how can it be bad! I am speaking the truth! They are all very knowledgeable and helpful and good at what they do!”

Geordi heard Hugh patting and rubbing circles into Crosis’ back.

“Praise can make people feel all _sorts_ of good, Hyades,” Geordi tried to explain through another chuckle. “Sometimes, weirdly enough, it can almost feel like it’s _too_ much.”

“Is it... similar to how I've been told," she followed him with, "that too much of a good thing... is a _bad_ thing?” 

“When it comes to praise? Sort of. You’re close.” 

Hyades frowned. “This is confusing.”

“You’ll get it eventually.”

And not a handful of minutes later, Troval clenched their gloved fist as an adrenal leveler hypospray finished its sequencing, muttering a “finally” as they gathered the group to officially form a plan. 

“This hypospray _should_ work to temporarily lower its adrenal levels and put it to sleep, thanks to Hyades here,” Troval sighed, “but how are we gonna get it into the Chamber, anyway? You said we can’t beam it or any of us onto the Deck, right?”

“It has a layer of tachyon _buildup_ and residual vacuum radiation on it, Junction Troval,” Vorik reminded. “The residue is not from the creature itself; rather, I believe it is from the initial energy burst that 'brought it here' in the first place. Transporting it is out of the question, just as much as an in-person escort is; it would not be ideal to have any more organic life exposed to Deck 5 until we can start proper decontamination sweeps for the entire deck. But conducting proper decon procedures with the tardigrade still inside _could_ be detrimental to its cellular integrity, no matter how resilient to 'hostile environments' it may be.”

“The decon sensors should be ready in 32 minutes, sirs," Five sighed. "It has been… difficult recalibrating them, considering the ‘energy burst’ V’evik and I encountered with its arrival.”

Geordi pondered. “We’re not even _entertaining_ the idea of kicking it off the ship, right? We’re all in agreement? We have to-- see if we can _learn_ about this thing, understand how ties it into… _all_ this,” he motioned with a hand, “and the fact it just shows up on our doorstep? Right as we start digging into the Chamber? That has to mean _something…”_

“And _how_ it ‘showed up on that doorstep’ is a mystery itself,” the EMH hummed. “It seems, Captain, we are in a ‘cat and mouse’ predicament, with nowhere to let loose our mouse.”

Geordi crossed his arms and rubbed a hand across his chin.

Come on, Captain. You got a Sphere full of xBs and Starfleet suits wanting to help with a couple of holograms at the ready, how were they--

His eyes caught the EMH’s holo-emitter juxtaposed to V’evik’s abandoned _stellaviatori_ samples.

Hologram.  
Tardigrades.

> _Samples. Chasing._   
>  _[Direction]_
> 
> `[there]`

And Hugh must’ve felt the mental sparks flare in Geordi’s mind, for he could see the xB tilt his head in expectant curiosity.

“You have an idea, Captain.”  
“Oh yes I do, Director.”

Geordi began wagging a finger. “Doctor, Atlas,” he spoke, the holograms at attention as Geordi licked his lips. “I think you’re gonna need to play cowboy and clown for a bit.”

EMH’s eyes darted back and forth from Atlas and Geordi. 

He frowned, particularly, at the word “clown.”  
“Come again, Captain?”

“Keeping it in a force field isn’t gonna do anything, we can’t _beam_ it into Chamber 5873, and _none_ of us want two Junctions on the losing end of a race again. Your-- mobile emitter, Doctor,” Geordi asked, “you can stabilize your holo-matrix anywhere with it deployed, right?”

“Of course I can, what are you getting at--” 

“Does that also count if someone _throws_ it?”

Hugh squinted, trying to follow along. 

Geordi turned back to the holographic UI display of Deck 5 the tardigrade was nestled in, a map highlighting what corridors the creature would have to take if it would reach Chamber 5873. “If we can’t get it there by normal means, then we’re gonna have to _corral_ it into the Chamber. Five,” Geordi called, pointing with one finger and drawing with another, “you said it was drawn to light?”

“Yes, Captain-”

“And V’evik, you suspect it had to do with your both’s _fungal_ samples-”

“Yes Sir.” 

Geordi was rubbing his hands. “Right, right, follow me people, look here: Atlas,” Geordi pointed, " _you_ could get in there without the tachyon interference negatively affecting him. Both you _and_ EMH, but Doc’s a bit more concrete with his mobile emitter. The device _itself_ is physical, though- it can keep a _scent_.”

And as if Geordi’s mind were a subspace warp conduit, he felt Hugh start to catch on, approaching him and the UI screen. “You are implying… Atlas is a sort of ‘wrangler’ with the Doctor, up to the Chamber,” Hugh nodded, “leading it with the Doctor’s mobile emitter, and then introduces it to the Chamber _entrance_ \--”

Geordi snapped with a smirk. “And if we’re lucky and we can get it to smell the bigger prize downstairs? It’ll run itself all the rest of the way down there since Atlas can't get down there.”

Vorik’s eyebrow raised. “I believe I am beginning to understand this plan, Captain. ...As interesting as this will _be_ for the Doctor _._ ”

EMH looked positively mortified. “I... _think_ I’m following, but-- Atlas,” the EMH tried to ask in a huff, “are you _willing_ to--”

“One moment, Doctor,” Atlas said as his cubical eyes glittered with static, “I am currently downloading all archives I have relating to the term ‘ranching’ and ‘wrangling.’”

And with realization dawning on his processors that he would very much be perfect for this, the EMH sighed, rolling his eyes as he resigned himself to his photonic fate. 

“You’re wanting to play a game of cat and mouse… and Atlas will be the one _flicking_ said mouse on a string,” he groaned. “...Fine. I’ll do it. But not a _word_ of this to Torres, do you hear me--”

“We owe you for this," Geordi said with a smile, "it’s the least I can do.”

The Captain put his fingers around the Doctor's emitter in a plucky little motion, feigning a grin of both support and amusement for the photonic. 

He frowned. _“Don’t_ get any spores in my main interface panel, please.” 

“Wouldn’t think of it.” 

And the EMH fizzled out and back into the device, Geordi holding the mobile emitter in his hand and twirling it between his fingers with a smirk.

> _Thanks, Doc._

“V’evik, Five; one of you pop open those samples. Time to make some bait.”

A short while later, the “bait” was prepared and the Doctor redeployed himself with a mobile emitter covered in fungus, the photonic brushing down the front of his holographic tactical vest as if the samples were lathered over his chest. Atlas, meanwhile, had already disappeared into his own network after confirming their pre-planned route, ready to “catch and release” the EMH as needed. With the confirmation Deck 5 was sealed and the tardigrade was still lumbering aimlessly through its hallways, the group gathered in front of the Doctor, Vorik giving one more lookover to the EMH's mobile emitter.

“I was never exactly _known_ for my physical prowess on _Voyager,”_ EMH sighed as Vorik joined his Captain, “but I’ll give it my best shot.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Geordi assured, “just keep your eyes on the prize, alright?”

“And-- do not turn back to look at it while you’re running,” Five offered him. “It may be benevolent now, but its face can be very... unsettling.” 

V’evik grimaced. “I second this sentiment.”

The chronometer was nearing their predetermined start time as Hugh offered the EMH a parting grin. “Thank you again for your help today, Doctor. We wish you safety.” 

“Ah, well. For all _we_ know there could be something _wrong_ with this poor creature,” he reasoned, “the least I could do is... make sure it stays in its _room,_ I suppose.”

Troval smirked. “Now _that’s_ a good Doctor.” 

“Oh you hush, Troval; _you_ owe me a consumable _intoxicant_ program after this is all said and done.” 

"Deal."

Hugh plapped his combadge. “Director Hugh to Transporter Bay 5; one to transport to earlier-provided coordinates.”

And once the EMH shimmered out of existence, the entire group moved and directed their attention to a blown-up live feed of all the cameras on Deck 5, Geordi folding his arms over his chest and rubbing at his beard. With Hyades close at his side, Crosis confirmed that Atlas was ready, waiting, and watching, the Doctor manifesting at the other end of the turbolift hallway. 

This was gonna be interesting as much as it was nervewracking. 

_“H-hey!”_ the Doctor started, giving a full-lipped pout and waving his fist. _“Hey! O-over here, you-- big… water bear!”_

Geordi’s hand moved up from his beard to hold his face.

The hologram had the tardigrade’s attention, but it needed some more convincing. _“What, am I not good enough for you to-- rabble after me!?”_ he urged, taking a couple of steps forward, _“Making yourself cozy? Am I too_ boring _for you after your little jaunt around the sphere?”_

After a dramatic jab of his thumb against his chest, the arm that bore his mobile emitter was also brandished to the tardigrade, the creature shuffling at this new thing made of hard light that didn't stop making noise. Geordi watched on as the tardigrade's strange, siphon-like mouth dripped and drooled as it hissed and grumbled, noticing _something_ as it turned its eight limbs and hulking head towards the Doctor _…_

Geordi rubbed at his thumb. “Alright, here we go Doc…” 

_“I’ll have you know I’ve tango’d with_ germs _bigger than you!”_

And the tardigrade, finally picking up the spores' scent on his mobile emitter, bellowed a roar and began to clamor after the EMH down the hall. 

“Let’s go, Doc!” 

_“VERY much ahead of you, Captain!”_

It was a long way to go from where he was to the Chamber, the Doctor following their pre-installed route down to a tee. When he was almost in the grasp of the tardigrade’s clutches due to the creature’s innate speed, Atlas manifested, plucked the EMH’s emitter from his arm, and threw it down the hall before phasing out again to a very confused, very teased tardigrade where the EMH popped back into existence.

The Doctor simply stood at the other end of a hallway, looking besmirched as ever as he straightened his tactical vest’s collar. _“Oh dear; looking for_ me?” 

The plan worked, if not evident by the very enamored tardigrade that immediately began barreling and screeching down the hall after the EMH again.

After the first couple of tosses, the two photonics finally got a system going; the tardigrade, roaring with all its guttural rumblings, would catch up to the Doctor, mere feet from nipping at his holographic heels. Right on time, Atlas would appear, lob his mobile emitter like a dodgeball, and the two kept the chase going from one end of the deck to the center of the sphere. At the last turn around a corridor, EMH finally reached the hallway that led to the spiral stairs down into the chamber… and standing at its front door, Atlas phased in with… no shirt on, squatting in ornate boots and tight pants to show for himself and muscles with a barrel-like chest…

What the--

_“Please phase me out please please please--”_

“Bay 5, target to transport now!”

As the EMH was running, the green energy of a transport beam whisked him away, and the tardigrade barreled into Atlas who caught it head-first like Hercules wrestling the Nemean lion.

The hologenerator behind them all, by now baked into the hull and wholly consumed by the sphere’s inherent Borg technology, thrummed with the extra energy Atlas required to hold the tardigrade steady. Over the other end, Atlas grappled with the writhing hulk of a beast- no doubt very angry and very confused as to where EMH’s scent had gone. Even though Geordi knew he _should_ be checking in with a now-materialized and frazzled EMH behind him (who was muttering “I’m fine, I’m fine!” to Troval), the Captain was _transfixed_ on whatever the hell Atlas was doing. 

And from the stunned silence of the crowd around them, Geordi wasn’t the only one staring.

> _Holy shit._

Atlas was laughing as he tumbled with the thrashing tardigrade, ignorant to the slashes it tried to scrape through his shimmering, ripped holo-matrix of a body. It seemed like the creature was wearing itself out and Atlas held his very strong, very burly arms around the back of its carapace, the tardigrade finally began to notice the much stronger scent of fungi emanating from the door.

 _“Yes,”_ Atlas urged over the comm, patting the side of its fleshy girth, _“yes, you must… go in there- go there! Do you sense it?”_

The tardigrade burbled, extended its mouth, stepped once, twice, three times after a push from Atlas… and it began to lumber into the corridor and down the stairs, faster, into a gait, and finally it was inside Chamber 5873, sniffing around the miniature forest to its heart’s content.

The hologenerator began to quiet as Atlas sighed, his face beaming with… pride. Happiness. Thrill.

> _“Whatever you do, don’t blow him off if he’s having ‘moment’s of inspiration.’”_

The hologram straightened, confirming the force field that now sealed the chamber door. _“Tardigrade secure, sirs.”_

And with an excited little rub of his hands, Geordi’s face ripped into a wide smirk.  
 _Not everyday you catch a bear with another one._

“Begin decontamination sweeps for Deck 5,” Hugh called to his combadge, “Deck 5 is to remain on lockdown for the next 200 hours.”

“Come back up when you're ready, Atlas,” Geordi called, “Five'll get you situated into your projector so we can all go see this thing.”

“May I go with you all, Captain?” Hyades suddenly asked, “Please? I would-- like to visit this creature for myself, if that is permissible...”

Geordi thought about it with a surprised look. “I uh… I mean it’d be-- fine by _me,_ considering we’re gonna sedate it, but… Hugh, Crosis? Troval? What do you think?”

When Geordi looked to Troval, the Betazoid xB was hiding a smirk and staring at something behind the Captain. 

And when Geordi turned around, he saw Crosis holding his face with one of his hands, Hugh murmuring something to his XO who quietly hissed a “Shh!”, his face as red as Geordi’s uniform stripes.

_Was Crosis blushing?_

“It’s alright by me, Captain,” Troval said, shaking her head to bring Geordi’s attention off them. “Come on Hyades, let’s get you into a tactical uniform, just to be safe. You might be able to help me, actually…”

Vorik readjusted his stance with V’evik and Five at his side, the Engineering Junction summoning Atlas' recalled program into her stored device. “I will escort the Junctions to sickbay to ensure they did not suffer any residual tachyon contamination,” he said. “I will update you with my observed supervision of the decon sweeps; do not hesitate to reach me should you need my assistance.”

“Thanks, Vorik. You two: rest up,” Geordi urged the xBs, “I think you deserve it after today."

“Gladly, Captain.”  
"Thank you, Sir." 

As the company filed out of Atlas’ renovated Queencell and Five left Geordi with Atlas in stasis, the Director rejoined the Captain at his side, who was nothing but smiles as Crosis followed after Troval and Hyades in a huff.

“What was that?” Geordi murmured with a lean. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Crosis that _flushed_ before…”

Hugh smirked. “I’ll tell you after we're done with diagnostics tonight.”

After the decon sweep was complete and personnel could be sent in for repairing walls from the tardigrade's claw marks, all of Hugh, Crosis, EMH, Hyades, and Geordi holding Atlas' storage deployment were beamed directly into the Chamber. Though scans had put them the exact opposite from the creature and they had watched it grow extremely docile once among the spores, Geordi and EMH still entered with phasers drawn and xBs with raised batons. But just as it had looked when they last peeked at the live feed, it was... relaxing? Sprawled out on a rather lush patch of cultivated spores that Atlas had set to work on, the whines of phasers and stun batons died down and Geordi got to work with Five's holographic broadcaster. 

Crosis, suddenly, mumbled a "nononono" to an overly-excited Hyades, pulling her back towards him as the creature lay still on its side. "Not yet, not yet. Careful, alright? You are _one,_ Hyades; there are no other units if _you_ are injured."

Geordi mulled on that implication. xBs _would_ have to get used to the idea of... harm, to a single body. Self-preservation, rather than tossing whatever amount of bodies were needed to collect something.

Geordi's mouth twitched.  
Must be hard. 

"Alright, Atlas coming out on the count of three," Geordi sighed as he backed up, "three, two, aaand--" 

Out shimmered Atlas from Five's storage broadcaster, back in his usual ensemble but looking quite pleased with himself. 

"Well hey there, cowboy," Geordi greeted in a tease. "You certainly tuckered this one out over here." 

"It was... certainly an _enlightening_ experience," Atlas commented. "I can see why sapients enjoy physical contact of that caliber so much." 

"Perhaps you should join Crosis' _wrestling club_ if you find you enjoy it so much, Atlas," Hugh offered cheekily, "I'm certain he would be thrilled to host you."

Geordi glanced to Crosis, whose face had both _lost_ color and had his cheeks flaring red. 

He _had_ to remember to bug Hugh about this later. 

"I've got the hypospray ready," Troval called, pulling their gloves a bit further up their arm. "Doc, you're behind me; Captain, give me a flank?"

"On your mark, Junction," Geordi confirmed. "Whenever you're ready."

At sensing the small crowd begin to slowly approach it, the tardigrade began to stir in its "nest," its two long antennae wriggling at the sound of tactical boots crunching the "soil" below. Its sniffs and glowers grew louder when it turned its head to EMH- but Troval was on it, raising their hands with a hypospray at the ready.

"Hey," Troval urged calmly, Geordi blinking to refocus after feeling a Betazoid emotional wave, "hey, hey... it's okay. You are safe. Just... want to know how you got here, if you're healthy..."

It huffed and blubbered, Troval waving a hand to have Geordi, Hugh, EMH, and Crosis halt in place.

"Hyades," Troval urged with the same hand, "come here, I think... my-- senses are dulled in this area, but I'm able to sense a common feeling with you both-"

Hyades looked up to Crosis, who gave her a nod and a quiet "go on, gently," the Wysanti skittering where Troval was. The tardigrade relaxed as the four stood back, Hyades walking carefully with Troval as they continued to approach... and it went back to idly lounging in the patch of fungi, spores chittering around its head and odd little mouth. 

"There we go. Just... a little closer, aaand--" 

Right as Troval was about to stick the hypospray into a soft area of flesh on its neck, the tardigrade balked its head and gave a mean snarl, scaring Troval to the point where they almost dropped the cartridge. But Hyades, reaching for the sides of the carapace over its "face," muttered a "no no no no, no," as if to bring attention off of Troval and onto her despite the Medical Junction's instinct to protect Hyades. 

"Touch is... good," she "told" the tardigrade as she rubbed its carapace forehead, "see? It calms. We do not wish to harm. You-- do not know what I'm saying, most likely, but--" 

Geordi watched as the tardigrade motioned as if to "sniff" her with its appendage-like mouth and its tendrils motion their way near her. "Keep it up Hyades, that's good," Troval said as they regained their wits, "that's good... okay, one more time with this... come on.... there--"

And finally, the soft woosh of a hypospray clicked into the tardigrade, and it's large head fell asleep in Hyades' arms. To everyone's relieved "phew's," the team straightened their posture and EMH strode towards the creature, the two doctors setting to work as Hugh, Atlas, and Crosis observed and Hyades sat beside it.

“Alright you,” Troval grumbled, stooping next to the sleeping beast and pulling out their scanner, “just stay right there, let us get a look at you…” 

Troval paused.

Gently, carefully, she put her other hand to the creature’s lower abdomen and held the tricorder there as EMH also scanned, feeling along a certain segment… and suddenly withdrew their hand, looking back and forth between the tardigrade, the tricorder, and the Doctor.

“Oh. Uh. Huh. Well that’s…” she laughed weakly, shaking her head, “oookay, that explains it…”

"Yes, I-- supposed that does--"

Hugh tilted his head. “Troval?” 

The group watched Troval as they stood up with EMH's help, Hyades still crouched by the Tardigrade’s head… and Troval’s face was flat as she held up a tricorder's screen.

On the device was a full-body scan of what looked to be the tardigrade’s main internal organs, and inside a certain cavity were at least 20 small ovals crammed tightly together and vying for space.

_Oh._

“Congratulations, Atlas,” Troval announced. “Hope you don’t mind being a nursery for the next _decade_ or so.”

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION CAPTAIN'S READY ROOM**

A few hours later, Director Hugh with Captain La Forge, Troval, and the EMH at his sides watched Admiral Janeway take in the news of Atlas' new 'incubator' role.

The hand that had been massaging her temple went to reach for a coffee mug. “So _she’s looking to store her clutch, you think?”_

“Very much so, given facts about species similar to her,” Troval sighed. “Also given that she hasn’t tried to _leave_ the chamber since Atlas escorted her down."

"All signs point to it, Admiral," the Doctor agreed. "The nesting, the aggression, the defensiveness and need to find extra comfort in her surroundings... this isn't exactly my _first_ time around a mother-to-be in deep space, you realize."

Janeway smirked at the comment. _"Well. Under the Federation's Endangered Species Protection Act,"_ the Admiral spoke as she sat up, _"and as allies of the Federation, Director Hugh: we hope the Reclamation Project will do its utmost best to house said clutch?"_

"We will ensure the nest will remain undisturbed to the best of our ability. The incubation period is... _long,_ " Hugh noted, "And we cannot guarantee nothing will happen in those 10 years that's not caused directly by our actions. But we will share all information learned about her species' observed behavior during her stay on the sphere, considering even inherent Borg knowledge on them is scant."

_"Federation biologists thank you in advance. Any idea of when she's 'due?'"_

"About a week, we're estimating," EMH said. "Her internal organs can't take much more of the compacting; another factor that lends to our 'nesting' theory." 

"We _will_ also be running some tests congruent to her, before she leaves," Geordi remarked. "Not actively _on_ her since we don't wanna endanger the clutch, but... there's too much lining up, Admiral. However the hell she _got_ onboard the sphere, the way Hyades was inoculated by a drone with the _same genetic information,_ the augments, the chamber itself..." 

Hugh took the mental baton. "The Captain has taught me the concept of a 'Venn Diagram,' and I believe our situation here is apt for that descriptor. We are delving further into this mystery, Admiral; yet as strange as it may be, the Reclamation Project can only be thankful that such scientific discoveries are being had alongside the Reclamation of so many xBs."

_"Keep at it. I want a full report submitted one week after she leaves, and some theories as to how she appeared in the first place. Understood?"_

The room resounded with a "Yes, Admiral," and Janeway parted with a nod.

_"Have fun giving her a name, if she doesn't already have one yet."_

And the screen flickered out for Janeway, the four in the Ready Room sighing as they assumed another responsibility involved with the Atlas Project. 

"I get why there's so few of these creatures," Troval groaned, their hand clinking over the scanner augment in their brow, "eight to ten years for an incubation period..." 

"It _does_ seem rather excessive, but I'll not judge a creature who typically gives birth in the vacuum of space."

Hugh, though humored by Troval's frustration and EMH's snooty grimace, turned to Geordi who was deep in thought. His brow was furrowed and his arms were crossed in that way he so often did when thinking, his cybernetic eyes staring firmly at his own meeting table...

His look was one Hugh had seen many times in the Reclamation Project's Engineering Division. Geordi was a problem solver. A thinker. 

And as individual life had taught Hugh, sometimes a single voice focusing too much on a single problem could drive them into many, many more problems.

Tenatively, Hugh reached his augmented hand out to Geordi and touched his bicep.   
The Captain jumped, as if remembering where he was... and he looked to Hugh with a tired grin, sighing as he ran a hand down and over his face. 

"Sorry."   
"No harm done, Captain."

Geordi brought his attention back up to EMH, Troval, and Hugh. "We've gotta find out what that energy was, before anything," the Captain remarked, "I know you both are on the medical side of things, but like I said, there's... I feel like we're on the brink of something. And part of that is gonna be figuring out how the tardigrade, the fungi, and those dead drones all tie together. Once we get that, I-- think we're gonna start getting some real answers as to how Atlas wound up here in the first place." 

Geordi firmed his lips. "And I'm just wondering whether or not we're gonna _like_ any of the answers."

It was a legitimate concern. The most pressing and _constant_ task at hand was tending to the drones the Reclamation Project was continuously unearthing, the concreteness of their mission a comfort for the xBs working in a starship of mysterious origin. While Hugh and xBs like him celebrated the variables that individual life could offer them, it was also... risky? Unknown. _Intimidating_ , if anything- walking into a form of their old "home" that came here by seemingly otherworldly means. 

It was a good way to describe the situation, Hugh decided.   
For he too wondered whether or not he would like the soon-to-be revealed answers.

Hugh blinked when he felt a residual wave of encouragement from his Betazoid friend. "We'll do our best, Captain. I'll send Five and V'evik all the notes the autopsy team made."

"Vorik and I will also see if we can remember anything from our own voyages in the Delta Quadrant, if we _recall_ anything in this vein of Borg 'innovation.'" 

The Captain nodded. "Thank you. ...You think Id would know something?"

"If her circumstantial memories were erased by the Collective, I don't see why she would know anything particular," Hugh said. "It _could_ be beneficial to seek her opinion, however... another voice, in this odd matter. And she _has_ asked to help." 

"Let's give the tardigrade some time to settle," Geordi offered, "a day or two to get 'nested,' then we'll start some comparative analysis and theories with the Cybernetics and Engineering side of things. Sound good, Director? Doctors?"

Hugh gave Geordi a wide grin as EMH and Troval nodded between themselves. "Wonderful, Captain." 

Before the quiet of the Ready Room could take over, Hugh remembered something.

"Doctor," he asked, "what were you calling the tardigrade in the hallway? A 'water bear?'" 

"Ah, yes. It was a non-scientific term on Earth for the creature, invented by the man who discovered them in 1777. 'Moss piglets' doesn't exactly roll off the tongue as well."

"Well, she's certainly as _big_ as a bear," Geordi noted. "Wonder what the 'cubs' will look like." 

The four sat in silence for a moment as they thought, Hugh watching Geordi's eyes dart out the Ready Room's windows as he thought.

"Maybe... oh!" Geordi snapped, "what about 'Ursa?' Like the constellations? Hugh, Troval, do you know--" 

"You mean Ursa Major and Minor," EMH echoed. With a raised brow and pursed lips at Geordi's nod and confirmation, the hologram pondered this. "Hmm."

Hugh looked to Troval as their minds wandered. 

> _["Ursa"]  
>  >[Major and Minor]  
> >[Named by Earthen astronomer Ptolemy]  
> >[Name translated: Great bear, "she-bear"]_
> 
> `[fo ll ow me?]`

Yes.

Geordi grinned. "A 'major' having a bunch of little 'ursa _minors_ ,'" he said with a musing glint in his eyes. "That's kinda cute." 

Something about Geordi saying the word "cute" caused Hugh to smile.   
And something about Geordi giving Hugh not only _his_ name, but also this creature a name out of immediate inspiration and clarity, made the xB's chest ache just as much as he smiled.

"Well. _I_ think Hyades should be the one to have the final say in this matter," the EMH pointed out, "but it _is_ rather fitting." 

"I'm seeing Hyades tomorrow for her throat implant check-up," Troval said. "I'll tell her about it and see what she thinks." 

Hugh nodded. "Of course."

And the ache in Hugh's chest returned, hoping that one day he'd be able to see this constellation in San Francisco with Geordi, pointing out each and every star to his own eyes.

* * *

**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER 0013, L.B.V. 'COMMAND JUGGERNAUT'  
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR'S QUARTERS**

Geordi’s hand lingered where a cable had just made a satisfying little -click!- into the back of a Borg spinal augment.

“Okayyy… how’re you feeling?” 

“Optimal. My diagnostic drivers are already initializing.”   
“Great. Synaptic relays passing initial connection tests?”   
“95% of them complete, reporting at 99.98% connection success rate.”’  
“Update program decompiled?”  
“Unpackaging as we speak.”

“Good. ...Comfy?”

Even from behind, he saw the corner of Hugh’s lips curl up in a grin. 

“Very.” 

Geordi chuckled as he papped Hugh’s cheek, reaching for his PADD on the Director’s desk and syncing it up with Hugh’s desktop display. After a long day of research, today was a monthly checkup for Hugh’s systems, and it was Geordi’s first time manning the controls for Hugh as the Director sat shirtless below him. There may not have been any cables sticking out of Hugh’s head (at least anymore), but the seven connected to port jacks in the xB’s rigid spine had already filled Geordi’s heart and mind with a bursting sense of sweet nostalgia. 

“Allllright, your vitals look good,” Geordi hummed as he meandered to Hugh’s side. “I’m watchin’ the numbers myself and they seem accurate to what you were telling me… next one that’s booting up is to do with motor control, right?” 

“Yes- that should activate in about 10 seconds.” 

“Anything I need to look out for?” 

“We’ll see how parts of my body like _this_ react _,”_ Hugh indicated with a tap to his augmented hand, “but I don’t anticipate anything of intrigue to occur. Nothing beyond the usual.” 

“What’s the usual?” 

“Sometimes aches, muscle spasms; it varies, depending on the nature of the software, which… should, be activatiiiing…” 

With a finger and head bobbing to “now,” Hugh visibly relaxed as instinct probably took over. 

And while Hugh was completely still the first few seconds, his eyes suddenly snapped open and he took in a hard hiss, a hand darting down to hold his left thigh. 

“Ahh, mmn-- actually, would you help me with my leg?” Hugh said through a wince, pushing the chair out and trying to reach for his sweatpants. “The lower half-- some of my motor pathways have been found to need updating and I-- I’m getting a cramp, augh--”

Geordi was already ducking down, crouching on one knee as he pushed up Hugh's pants leg. “Yeah yeah, I’m on it-- where your ankle is, I’m guessing?” 

“Yes--” 

“What do you need me to do?”

“Just hold it up level to my knee,” Hugh breathed as he leaned back in the chair, “hold it straight so it’s not flexed… aha, ah, ahhh. Ohh, thank you.” 

The xB took in a deep breath as Geordi rolled his fingers where Hugh’s “achilles” would be, quietly looking over the augment embedded in his skin. Fading from his fair complexion into the cybernetic veins that spilled into flesh, Hugh had a similar “ligament webbing” that his hand bore instead of certain muscle tendons, the skin near his tibia patchy with whatever exo-plating was still underneath the surface. It seemed as if this augment was a very precarious mixture of bone and implant, unable to be removed. Considering how complex the bones of an ankle were _without_ the extra Borg parts, the idea of Hugh getting a muscle spasm where Geordi saw him occasionally lean on a brace wasn't too far-fetched. 

Geordi let silence linger as the corner of his eye caught his synced PADD reaching the end of this update. “How’re you feeling?”

Hugh hummed and nodded above him, his head still leaned back into the chair. “Better. Thank you, Geordi.”

“These motions that I’m doing good?” 

“Wonderful. Would you… also rub the front of it? Where my shin is, please? I know the coloration makes it look tender, but I promise; it can withstand the same level of handling.” 

“Are you gonna be able to walk okay the rest of the night?” Geordi asked as his hands moved with Hugh's direction. “Or you think you’ll need your brace.”

“After the update finishes, I will see. Normally if it aches like this, I’m simply winded afterwards but it-- ohhh.” 

Hugh gave a deep sigh as the diagnostic moved to its next phase, Geordi swearing he could feel the tension in Hugh’s organic muscles dissipate to blend easier with the bumps of cybernetics. Geordi looked up, grinning to see Hugh enjoy his own relief for how peaceful he looked in his seat... 

“Good?” 

“Very. Thank you again.” 

“How long do you need me to do this for?” 

“Would you… mind doing it for the rest of my uplink?” Hugh asked. “Forgive me, I--” 

“Forgiveness _denied_ , you,” Geordi lovingly warned him. “Don’t even think about apologizing. This isn’t my first time on either the giving _or_ receiving end.” 

“You?”

“Mm. _Giving_ , I used to do something like this for Data’s bioplast tissue after updates, sometimes,” Geordi explained. “Limb repair, motor software- I practiced some massage techniques on him. It also helped after Data’s emergency diagnostics- poor guy took so much shit in his positronic net on the _Enterprise,_ sometimes he couldn’t walk right for a week… now _receiving,_ I uh-- used to get _awful_ migraines when I wore my VISOR. Not a whole lot, but- sometimes we’d go near an ion storm and I swear I could feel it throbbing; I’d _beg_ Crusher for dermal patches since it made me ache all over, and then Data would help me relax since he knew all my pressure points. I still have those aches and pains every now and then, the headaches come and go, but- not as much anymore. Least not as much as the _general_ aches you get when you’re older, and have 50-something years of cybernetics work done on your head. That helps too.”

By the way Hugh relaxed as Geordi told his story, he could tell the xB was wholeheartedly enjoying the imagination… or maybe he just liked listening to him talk.

Geordi felt his cheeks flush at imagining Hugh doing the same thing for him, should one of those blinding migraines ever resurface.

> `[one da y ? one da y]`

Geordi’s eyes flickered to the PADD again. “You’re coming up on your sensory processor update, it says.”

“Mm. I will only be quiet for as long as this cycle lasts.”

“Can you still hear me when it’s running?”  
“No. ...But I will still be able to feel your touch.”

“Then I’ll keep doing this forrrrr,” Geordi squinted back at the screen, “two minutes, 19 seconds. How’s that sound.” 

Hugh smiled. “I’d want nothing more.”

“Sweet dreams, baby.” 

And the xB’s smile widened, his cheeks creasing in bashfulness as Hugh leaned back and closed his eyes. The PADD and Hugh’s desk softly trilled to signal his temporary sensory absence, and the engineer of a Captain suddenly had two minutes, 19 seconds to himself. 

18 seconds. 

17.

As Geordi’s hands still gently kneaded Hugh’s metal-slivered skin, his eyes lidded and his mind, left in silence, began to meander down a familiar trail.

Bioplast, huh.

Even though he could never really forget the feel of that stuff in general, Geordi was starting to forget what touching Data in _particular_ felt like.

But that realization had already started to creep in many, many years ago.

2379 felt so long ago.   
Yet it could feel so close.

His mind wandered as he rubbed at Hugh's calf.

> “I wish we had you on the _Enterprise_ sometimes, Musiker,” Geordi remarked at the Security PADD with a puff of his cheek and an impressed tilt of his head. “Keep this intel scrounging up and you’re gonna be first in line for a Captaincy come five year’s time.” 
> 
> “I’m _gunning_ for four, but I’ll take it.”
> 
> “You really wanna get into a starship that bad?” 
> 
> Raffi scoffed. “Who said I had to be in _space_ with four pips? You don’t know; for all _you_ know I’ll wanna hunker down and manage some well-to-do Starbase out in the middle of nowhere.” 
> 
> “Uh-huh; sounds _just_ like you.”
> 
> “Shh,” she teased, taking back her PADD and using it to plap his arm as he chuckled, “don’t give away my cover.” 
> 
> 12 years ago and still dressed in the grey-shouldered uniforms of the 2370s, Geordi La Forge stood in a humble Starfleet HQ meeting room vestibule with Raffi Musiker at his side. Nearly a year to the day of Geordi seeing Hugh again for the first time since 2368, enough communication had been established between this fledgling colony of former Borg and Starfleet to warrant an Accords signing that guaranteed further resources, spacial recognition, and possible colony alliance. Once news broke of the _Keter's_ 2378 visitation, Starfleet veterans of Borg-related skirmishes and assimilations had begun emigrating to Ohniaka III, Geordi reading reports of retired officers finally feeling at peace after so many traumatized years of living alone with the weight of the Collective. It added an extra 800 to their previously-floundering population of ~1200, and with greater numbers came greater enthusiasm from this 'Cooperation' to keep those channels open, now manifesting in the form of resource exchanges and official sector recognition. 
> 
> “You’ve clocked in more than I have dealing with the Borg directly, La Forge,” Musiker sighed, looking up to the UI display of arriving delegates, “I just get to try and track the guys who keep stealing the Collective's tech and carting it off to who knows where. ...What do you make of all this?” she asked, “you think this’ll work out? The Romulans are breathing down our neck about just this _signing_ ; I don’t see what the big deal is opening a channel with 2,000 of them, considering they didn't try to leave their _planet_ for a decade...”
> 
> Geordi rolled his tongue against his cheek, waiting for a two cents from Data that never came. 
> 
> So he, by himself, answered as best he could. “Well, _one:_ don’t think of them as Borg, Raffi. _Related_ in a way _,_ sure, but… they’re not Borg. Not anymore. Borg implies...” Geordi motions his hand, “that’s just all there is, really. Borg. There’s no… you. No differentiation. Just the Collective, the whole mass, and that’s it. The moment you start to call them _people_? Talk to one drone by themselves? _That’s_ a person. And that variety’s an antithesis to everything the Collective is.”
> 
> "But they are, still," Raffi told him. "They're Borg." 
> 
> "And yet they're _not."_
> 
> She huffed. "It's gonna take other people a _while_ to accept that kind of paradox, La Forge; you know that."
> 
> Geordi nodded to himself, trying to imagine what Data would add onto this kind of talk with.
> 
> “So maybe the Empire’s afraid of that,” he decided on. “Maybe they’re afraid of the fact they can’t just blindly steal from 'units' who're starting to gain a voice. A will. Or, maybe _worse;_ they _still_ don’t care about ‘em, and only care about how much _trouble_ they could get in with the people who _do_ care about them. And their Senate’s _real cute_ if they think they have ground to stand and say who we can and can’t be friends with, considering the _Scimitar_ shitshow. A shitshow _we_ had to deal with, a shitshow that cost thousands of lives- all because of their goddamn _unwillingness_ to handle the problems in their _own_ house.”
> 
> Geordi sorely wished this were a type of event that warranted drink catering.
> 
> “Tell them to call us when they get a new fucking _Praetor_ picked out, y’know...”
> 
> He felt Raffi watch him as he ran a hand over his mouth. 
> 
> “You alright, Geordi?”
> 
> His thumb missed rubbing at his wedding ring.
> 
> “Gonna have to be, aren’t I.” 
> 
> Musiker gave him a nod and a pat on the shoulder.
> 
> “Fine; have it your way, tough guy. ...I gotta find Janeway before we assemble,” she sighed with a wiggle of her PADD, “go over some security provisions these Accords have that I think are important to mention.”
> 
> "Hear anything from Jean-luc yet?"
> 
> Raffi shook her head with a soured frown. "Still cooped up in his office. He's signed all the paperwork, sure, but-- I don't think JL's coming today, Geordi."
> 
> Geordi's mouth twitched.
> 
> "He tell you why?"
> 
> She gave him a look. "I think you and I know the answer to that." 
> 
> And with that, Musiker marched off down the hall with tightened lips, Geordi left in the metal fog he felt was begin creep in again despite the hustle and bustle of the vestibule. He wondered if it would be too improper to step out for a smoke off his pen, maybe he should check his own PADD to see what time it was...
> 
> Down the hall, proceeding to a conference room, was a group of a dozen former Borg of all shapes and sizes.
> 
> Though they all wore simple black clothes accented with gold and silver linings, their uniqueness stood out to Geordi despite the near gothic monotony. One was lanky and tall with a blue-tinted undercut and cranial implants bordering scar lines, another one a brute of a man with hair tied into a bun and a full beard to compliment a metallic patch where an eye should be... watching the group proceed into the room, the Starfleet side of the vestibule grew quiet and wary, all eyes fixed on these former drones as they filed in as quickly as possible. Geordi offered a polite, if still-hesitant smile; at this, before all the former drones proceeded inside, one with a mask over the lower half of their face who saw Geordi went wide-eyed and reached back in their tightly-packed throng to reach for someone, Geordi trying to see--
> 
> Hugh.
> 
> Picard wouldn't get to see him, locked away in his little ivory tower.
> 
> _How cowardly of him._
> 
> “Hugh!” Geordi laughed, the former drone trotting from his group to meet him for a handshake. “Welcome to Earth, Terra Prime, whatever you call it- welcome to Starfleet!”
> 
> “Hello Geordi,” the former Borg caught his breath on with a smile on his lips. “Geordi, Earth is… I have never seen a planet so blue. I-- remember what I know inherently, but… it is good to see you, my friend. You… you are here, this means you’ll--?”
> 
> “One of the attending personnel from ol’ _Enterprise-D,”_ Geordi allowed himself to boast. “Everyone else is a bit busy; Riker and Troi are on a diplomacy mission out to Betazed, Worf’s on Qo’Nos, Bev’s doing some vaccine studies on Andoria, and I ah… wrapped up a little Shore Leave, recently.”
> 
> "Admiral Picard?" Hugh asked. "I saw his signature in our debriefing documents, will he be...?"
> 
> _Play it off._
> 
> "He got things organized for us, but I don't think he can make it today."
> 
> “Ah. But... to think you, my friend, will be signing our... first treaty with another world!” Hugh said with disbelief. “Geordi, I-- oh, no, that is incorrect- should I call you Commander La Forge now?”
> 
> “Around _me?_ You’re fine calling me Geordi,” the Lieutenant Commander assured him. “Now around people with three or _more_ pips, keep it to formalities, but I’m not gonna correct someone who’s also a friend.”
> 
> “Understood. And, Geordi- Commander Data?” Hugh asked brightly. “If you are here, does that mean Data will _also_ be here?”
> 
> The Commander’s eyes thinned, about to remind Hugh of _everything_ that had happened... but Hugh’s face shifted into confusion at seeing Geordi’s stifled frustration, and realization hit Geordi all at once.
> 
> He really didn’t know.  
> Hugh wouldn’t have a reason, nor the malice, to play with him like that.
> 
> And as hard as it was being the bearer of bad news, it was oddly refreshing for Geordi to deliver the news _himself_ for a change.
> 
> “Um, well, that’s... gonna be a little hard, Hugh,” Geordi said quietly. “Data died about a month and a half ago.”
> 
> Though Geordi had done a pretty good job of being able to put on a professional face at work, he couldn’t help it when his brow creased and his heart began to sink as he watched Hugh’s face crumple. 
> 
> “I… how, wh—”
> 
> “The Romulan Praetor Incident. Don’t worry, I’m not-- surprised the news didn’t make it out to your neck of the woods yet, considering how the Empire _is_ with synthetic-related folks. Data pulled the day through for us because of what he did, but… yeah.”
> 
> Hugh firmed his lower lip and Geordi could tell he’d inadvertently sucked some of the joy out of this experience for the former Borg. With guilt welling in his gut, Geordi thought it better to excuse himself until the general assembly began, shaking his head and offering Hugh a soft, sad grin. “Don’t mind me,” he told him, “don’t mind me, alright? You go do what you nee--” 
> 
> “Geordi,” Hugh spoke, and he said his name in the same gentle voice he had 11 years ago. “I’m- so sorry, my friend, I didn’t even know… we- the _others_ , I refer to- we’ve been so busy in the year following Reconstitution, and--”
> 
> Hugh was different from the average politician or Starfleet suit sending their sterile regards, but the next person that said “I’m so sorry” to Geordi was going to get a very bottled-up mouthful.
> 
> Yet something that Hugh said caught Geordi’s attention, pulling him away from his wounds. “Recon-- what was that, now?” 
> 
> “Ah, the... period of time we’ve begun referring to the _Keter’s_ visit as,” Hugh explained. “It has made its way through our communal lexicon. But Geordi, you will… be a part of these Accords signings, despite this?” the former Borg asked, “truly?”
> 
> “Of course,” Geordi told him. “Wouldn’t feel right if I _wasn’t_ here, considering yours and I’s history. Besides, it was-- something different to look forward to, before I head out to Utopia Planitia. Do something for a good cause.”
> 
> _Something that Data would be proud of._
> 
> Hugh nodded with tight lips and a brow knit in remorse.
> 
> “Well. I would… understand if you did not want to visit, or you wanted to- limit your socialization time afterwards, but I would like to visit with you before we leave San Francisco. After the Accords’ business is concluded, of course; but I missed you, Geordi. And I would like to see you, knowing you are here-”
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> With widening eyes, Geordi didn’t know where that curt reaction came from.
> 
> So the Commander swallowed, running his hand over his mouth and holding a hand out. “Sorry, sorry- I’m sorry, Hugh; that didn’t come out I wanted to, I--” 
> 
> “Because you are my friend, Geordi.” 
> 
> The sincerity in Hugh’s voice caught Geordi off guard, and he paid just as much attention as he would to his _Enterprise_ crewmates. 
> 
> “ _That_ is why I have missed you. As to why I would like to _see_ you, now that I know that you are here... I have observed my friends endure sadness. I-- _too_ have experienced this sadness of loss. But I have come to understand, however, that the company of _other_ friends can make these times somewhat easier, and… I hope that I am significant enough of a friend to offer that same level of comfort to you, Geordi.”
> 
> He had only seen Hugh a few times since his ‘Reconstitution’ a little more than a year ago, but Geordi was always amazed at how… verbose Hugh had become. How the former Borg, in all his bluntness, had a _point_ with his honesty... just like Data had, whenever he learned something new about human variety.
> 
> And the idea of catching up with a friend over coffee outside of Starfleet business wasn’t exactly the worst-sounding thing in the world.
> 
> “I, um… I’ll think about it, okay?” Geordi told him with a nod. “I appreciate it, Hugh; I do. Let’s take care of business first, though; and I’ll help make this as easy as I can.” 
> 
> “Of course. And Commander,” Hugh asked, “before we proceed, may I, ah--”
> 
> Even though Geordi raised a brow at Hugh’s suddenly extended hand, he returned the shake that the former Borg offered. 
> 
> But he felt Hugh give his hand a little tug towards him.   
> Geordi’s eyes widened.   
> Suddenly, in a blur, he found himself in a deep hug with a former Borg that was exactly his height, exactly what he needed right now...
> 
> And the Commander found that he could spend all day in this stupid hug.
> 
> He gripped Hugh’s shoulder in earnest as the former Borg gave him a few pats to his back, Geordi murmuring a promising “We’ll talk soon” before they pulled apart. The Commander held his friend by the shoulders, giving Hugh one more lookover before declaring him fit to enter the legislation room. 
> 
> “You got this,” Geordi promised him. “I’ll be in there right at 1100 when the recess is done.”
> 
> “Wish us favor, please.”
> 
> “Oh, I’ll send you fortune, favor, and all that stuff to do with bravery,” Geordi jeered kindly. “Now go on; I think I see one of your Council Board lookin’ at you.”
> 
> Hugh gave him a parting smile before following Geordi’s head bob towards the Ohniakan former Borg, the Commander’s eyes watching him slip through the crack in the opened door before it whisked shut.
> 
> Just like that, Geordi was alone again. 
> 
> But he could take that loneliness for now if it meant he got to be in the same room with some friends around soon.
> 
> In Geordi’s solitude, Data’s words drifted back to him.
> 
> _“What will they wanna be, Data? Who will they wanna be?”  
> _ _“Whatever they choose to be, I suppose.”_
> 
> What a keen android he was- even as a ghost.

  
  


In the present, Hugh’s final diagnostic routine softly trilled with its completion, and the xB’s eyes began to flutter open. 

“Good morning.” 

Hugh grinned. “You stop that, it is _2145,”_ he jeered lovingly, stirring as his spinal cables dangled absently above him. “Mnn… thank you for helping, Geordi.”

“No problem. How you feeling?” 

“Ohh, I needed it- I could tell. Certain augments need… reincorporation,” Hugh tried to explain, “ _encouragement,_ to... integrate further into myself that an alcove can’t quite get.” 

“You make it sound like a Trill sauna...”

“A, what?”

“Trill saunas, hotsprings,” Geordi offered, slowly lowering Hugh’s leg back down. “Some of the chemical makeups in Trill’s homeworld lakes and hotsprings are pretty close to the Caves of Mak’ala, where the symbionts live. The Caves are the highest concentration of what they keep ‘em in, but if you sit in one of their civilian hotsprings? Oh,” Geordi chuckled, “it’s a relaxation unlike anything else. Back in SF there's a Trill family that's owned a spa place in North Beach for years where they treat the water themselves; it's the stuff of dreams.”

Though Geordi could tell he was listening, he watched Hugh feel the strength of his leg as he rolled his tender ankle and sore muscles.

“Tell me if you need your brace.”

Hugh pulled his leg from Geordi’s touch and cautiously tested his weight on it, grimacing once in his chair… and he sighed, looking like he’d just run a 10 kilometer marathon as Geordi stood up.

“Would you bring it to me?” he asked with those big blue-and-brown eyes of his. “The door by my restroom; you will see it… ” 

“Should I take those cables out of you first?” 

Hugh looked rather bashful. “You don’t have to…”

“Well, guess what,” Geordi grunted as he stood up. “I _want_ to.”

With the deftness of Geordi’s careful hands, he plucked the cables out of Hugh’s spinal augment one by one, allowing the Juggernaut’s hull to pull them back into the ceiling. Making sure the ports were properly sealed, Geordi’s ruffled the xB’s hair in passing before he reached the indent that housed Hugh’s forearm crutch, and a… robe? On a hook? Oh, what was _this,_ Geordi wondered while he snooped; a black robe with a silky sheen that went down to Hugh’s knees, a Reclamation Project sigil hemmed on its chest and a golden sash to boot....

What a little diva.

Bringing both the brace _and_ the robe back, he helped Hugh stand up with a tug, the xB chuckling as Geordi practically shoved the pretty little thing into his arms.

 _“How_ have I never seen you in this?”

“You _know_ I’ve been in my _Solstice_ quarters _far_ more during this Project than I have on the Juggernaut, leave me be…”

As Hugh draped the robe over his shoulders and hooked his arm into the crutch, Geordi’s hands went to tie Hugh’s sash for him as his partner got comfortable. “Well, you should _bring_ it to your _Solstice_ quarters.”

“Are those Captain’s orders?”

“Mm. _Can_ be if you want them to be.”

As Geordi tied the sash into a little bow, he realized he was looking at a rather familiar sight. 

An xB he’d known since his very inception was standing next to a sun-streaked window. A robe hung over his shoulders and his arms were gingerly folded, leaning on a support brace. Nowadays, Hugh’s hair may have been longer and his face held a few more creases and scars… but the same peacefulness lingered in Hugh’s weathered brown and blue eyes.

All they needed was an observation room bench from the _USS Keter_ , a view of Ohniaka III outside, and Data by his side to set a 2378 mood.

> _What did bioplast skin feel like again?_

“Geordi?” 

The Captain, only then, realized he’d been staring.

“Nothing,” Geordi murmured, blinking to bring himself out of his stupor. “Just… got a little déjà vu, is all.”

“I am aware of this phenomenon. I... hope it was a _good_ experience, at least?” 

“Yeah...”

As Geordi closed the gap between them, his hands went to cradle Hugh’s face and lay a loving kiss to his lips. The Captain thought with all his mental might to recreate (and hopefully broadcast) the memory, the feeling, and the delight of seeing Hugh onboard the _USS Keter_ for the first time in 10 years _._

And by the mesmerized, touched look on the xB’s face when Geordi pulled back, Hugh got the message loud and clear. “Oh.” 

Geordi smiled. “Mhm. Now _remember,_ ” he chided lovingly, "you still gotta tell me what got _Crosis_ all in a huff earlier." 

Hugh chuckled as he shook his head. "Ohhh, where do I start, dear?" 

"I think you know the answer to that."

Once Geordi had returned to his quarters aboard _Solstice,_ he was still somewhat lively and had a few more lines of a report to file… but not before he sat at his desk and brought up some old contacts, scrolling back to see when he’d last messaged a certain someone from his “RETIRED STARFLEET” personnel group.

Hmm. A month and a half ago, last one a Happy Birthday conversation and letting her know where he’d been.   
Lined up with their usual, periodical message gaps.

So Geordi got to typing.

> `[STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE - ENCRYPTED MESSAGE - CONFIRMED 457826.xx.3239]`  
> `[RETD. LT. CMR. RAFFI MUSIKER]`  
> `SUBJECT:` 🤖🟢✨
> 
> `Hey Raffi!`
> 
> `It’s been a while! That’s kinda on me, considering I’ve been dealing with a Borg Bonanza out here for almost four months (and no, I didn’t come up with that). But I hope you’ve been well, Musiker. Thought about you today while I’m out here in the middle of Nowhere, and wouldn’t you know; turns out Nowhere’s just 20 light years off the beaten path of Bajor. Beats Mars at least, that’s for sure.`
> 
> `Hope you’re taking care. Gimme a call if you ever wanna catch up, message me, whatever; I won’t be back on Earth until the end of February (maybe early/mid March?), but I’d like to have a chance and visit, if you’d be alright with that.`
> 
> `Blow a kiss to earth for me,  
>  CPTN. GEORDI LA FORGE`
> 
> `[END MESSAGE]`
> 
> `-SUBSPACE CHANNEL FORWARDING SUCCESSFUL-`
> 
> ``

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> raffi knows geordi in the PIC comics (and was his second-in-command while he was a commander!!!), please god give us more good raffi content if i do end up watching PIC S2. we will See || i can't believe "moss piglets" is an actual fucking name for tardigrades


	22. allusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting deeper into Month 4, but that doesn't mean the mystery is lightening up in any way. Who knows: it actually may be getting more interesting. 
> 
> Holonovel shenanigans are had, a couple xBs get closer than they ever expected to be, tenuous plans are finalized, a queen pays a visit, and an android thinks about death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda the last chapter before we get into some big plot shit so buckle up nerds !!! || cw for some weed smoking near the end but my name's admiral bongwater on twitter so tbh what tf do you expect || i wanted to do a Silly holonovel thing but not encroach on the whole sherlock holmes thing since that was data's thing but geordi's a big enough nerd to still wanna do that imo so let them have some FUN || the xenoanthropology bit this round was inspired a little bit by both the Events of this chapter and cemented by wordswithout's extremely baller H/G fic "lands of plenty lands of loss" which if you haven't read that: GO READ IT!! GO READ IT RIGHT NOW 🗣️🗣️🗣️|| hey remember VOY's "body and soul" episode. what if we did that but Better and Gayer and not as weird WRT consent issues || i helped my roommate make her family's latke recipe this Hanukkah and i swear to god they really are that big. like imagine a football the size of your palm but they were so fucking good || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - DECEMBER 12, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_ **   
**HOLODECK 1**

> **** _CH. 2, SECTION III - ON LIBERATED BORG COOPERATION SOCIETAL STRUCTURE - PROTOCOLS AND CULTURE OF CONSENT AND/OR ACCLIMATION TO RECLAMATION PROCEDURES (WRITTEN BY JUNCTION HORUS, SUPERVISOR TO LT. CMR. DR. AMADEUS O’REILLY)_ ** **
> 
> _I have written before that "our bodies are self-shaped temples with tools we built or 'reclaimed' from our oppressors." We, as those Reclaimed and liberated from the Borg and their Hivemind, take great pride in the self-made individuals we are now and forever more, and we relish in the fact we are able to form our own persons once our fates are rightfully returned to us._
> 
> _Yet with this fate, also comes one of our most treasured facets of choice: consent, and consent as to_ how _those bodies of ours are Reclaimed._
> 
> _If an xB does not wish to remove their optical implant, so may they keep it. We learned long ago that invasive questioning does no good to a person looking to find peace within themselves and their newly-forming identity, and that autonomy includes the choice of what to be done with their body. Should this same xB decide, many years later, to have said optical implant removed and be replaced with newly-knit flesh or a cybernetic eye, so may they request it, and so shall it be done. There is no shame in the reinvention of self, and that includes whatever direction they choose to further their own "transhumanism." The only time the Reclamation Project staffers will remove an implant or augment without direct consent is if said technology threatens the xB's life, if the xB is enduring a mental crisis at the augment's behalf, or if the xB is unconscious from the latter two causes and has no immediately-associated kin to reconcile their thoughts on the matter. Even then, this is done in only the most dire of circumstances, with extra observance and care given to the patient to ensure they do not feel the loss of this implant too deeply._
> 
> _Augments will always fall from former Borg; be they extracted by surgery, or shed naturally by our own flesh's will. Throughout recorded Ohniakan history and other xBs the Reclamation Project encounters, it is a constant where our bodies will begin to reject certain implants- either from lack of use, irrelevancy, or if the xB's mental state can no longer stand the sight nor presence of the implants "gifted" to us from our Oppressor. The organic parts of ourselves begin to lurch under implants and overgrow our cybernetic extensions, and I speak from experience when I say how marvelous it is to see pigment return to the skin by the work of my own body, and fostered by my people's encouraged medical treatment._
> 
> _Yet in that marvel, there is also a fear. A hesitation, at losing parts of a vessel that was, at one time, all we knew ourselves to be. For even though we can choose (or re-assume) names as we exist outside the Collective, and while there is great joy in that, there is also a great burden in transitioning from one identity to another, and making peace with the conflating concepts of "drone" and "person." Though the Consultation Division attempts to help ease this great mental tide we must cross as xBs, the consent that must be given to remove, replace, or retrofit drones from implants and augments is paramount for a people who had no understanding of the concept of "choice" in the first place._
> 
> _We revel in the results of that consent. We are the people we are because of our ability to choose. Every day, the miracle of choice is one that we treasure deeply. And it lends our societal paradox of "Individuality's Needs, Community's Many;" that we should choose to live as ourselves, and support the other former Borg around us for their right to choose as well._
> 
> _Though we may have common physical remnants of Reclamation: scarring, hydraulics ports, cybernetic limbs, exo-plating sheets buried deep in the skin, our ability to choose and consent to what we wish to keep, discard, improve, or cherish lends us a unique element to our diversity._
> 
> _And I speak a beloved truth when I tell you there are no two xBs who look the same- no matter how many times the Collective used a certain assimilation template._

As the sound of a cello strummed its last, long note, an eyedropper pen’s cap clicked shut as Geordi La Forge cleared his throat, finding his place at the top of his notebook’s sepia-colored paper.

The crackle of a fireplace and dull patter of rain against the window made for a wonderfully supportive ambiance.

“I have written previously,” Geordi began, “in what feels like a lifetime ago... that the violin can ‘stir the soul to the heights of bliss, or the depths of despair. The cello, however- and while it is unfair to reduce _one_ instrument’s upstanding qualities for sake of comparative favor, I believe it is fair to write that the cello ‘soaks’ into the soul, rather than stirs it. As I, Chief Inspector Geordi La Forge, listen to Viscount Hugh caress this instrument... I find that the _cousin_ of the violin seeps deep into the bones of both listener and player _alike_ with its haunting songs and intimate bars _._ For Viscount Hugh plays with all the efficiency his very nature lends him, the passion of a man who adores the harrowing, slow sounds he is able to produce, and the skill of…” 

Geordi’s voice trailed off into a smirk as he snapped his notebook shut over the sound of a crackling fireplace, the Viscount Hugh opposite to him with a jet-black cello resting against his leg and a raised brow on his face. “Do you intend to leave me _guessing_ , Inspector La Forge?”

“Oh, hardly, my good Viscount,” the “Inspector” assured as he set his book aside and rose up from the parlor’s couch. “ _You_ were simply finishing up, and _I_ can only write so fast; the sound of your playing is too _wondrous_ for me to describe in the mere written word, after all!”

And past the vampiric countenance the xB tried to embody in this 1890s murder mystery holonovel, a glimmer of Hugh’s bashfulness peeked through his currently pale skin, red eyes, and toothy smile.

“I’m trying to be intimidating, you know.” 

“I _do_ know, and it _is_ working.”

Geordi extended a ringed hand to the Viscount in his wingman chair. “May I help you up?”

Tightening his grip on the neck of his cello, Hugh smirked as he passed his bow to Geordi’s outstretched palm, took the Inspector’s free hand, and pulled himself up for a kiss on the lips.

Geordi savored Hugh’s taste as another snap from the firewood made itself known, the Captain-currently-Inspector impressed by how well the environmental details in this holonovel were programmed. It was a customizable mystery template he’d downloaded from an open-share holonovel RPG server, Geordi proposing the idea to use _Solstice’s_ holodeck for _more_ than just recreated scenery. This could never have happened, however, if Geordi had not _first_ discovered Hugh’s affinity for vampire mythos and lore, waving the xB’s left-open PADD from the bedroom with a loud _“WHAT’S THIS?”_ and a loving laugh as Hugh rushed back with flush on his face to spare. 

So, after Geordi found a highly-rated and stability-vetted 1890s murder mystery, the two went about customizing their holonovel. While both sides received input regarding personal settings, NPC relations, and other twists that the algorithm would weave together into a cohesive story, the personal “character” creator was the most fun by far, Geordi immensely pleased at the replicator’s clothing patterns he could choose before each “session.” Geordi La Forge was “Inspector La Forge:” a private investigator with contacts in vampire society, hired to investigate the mysterious murder of three young, unnamed vampires that were found on the Atlas Estate: a renowned place among vampires that, for all its glamour, acted as a halfway house for traveling (or adjusting) vampires. Viscount Hugh, meanwhile, served as the Estate’s current “manager,” and as an ambassador between humans and his ilk of vampires: those who did not murder the living nor take blood without consent, working to control their vampiric instincts and integrate by initial disguise and focused humanity. The program’s first session had Geordi and Hugh discovering beastial clawmarks and tracks in the snow and hearing strange noises from the surrounding woods; while Geordi hatched a plan to possibly catch the monstrously-built murderer of the three young masters, they instead caught a wayward hellhound that Hugh’s influence and fellow holographic vampires managed to subdue. Once calmed from a horrendous rage, the hellhound was found merely to be searching for a place to raise her soon-to-be-litter, and Geordi spared a thought for her sleeping, holographic soul in an otherwise-empty shed. 

Wasn’t much different from Ursa, who was _also_ probably napping within Chamber 5873.

Tonight, their second session let Geordi see Hugh’s customized study for the first time, and oh- was he impressed by his xB partner’s sense of spontaneity for design. Philosophy and poetry books lined the shelves, a fireplace warmed the high-ceiling room inlaid with gold, green, and black accents, and puerh tea incubated within a samovar’s simmering body surrounded by a beautifully-ornate teapot and set. The only thing that was not constructed by the holodeck was Hugh’s cello; brought from Ohniaka III and typically kept within the Juggernaut, the instrument was made from a similar material to carbon fiber, gold inlays around its “seams” and along its neck as Hugh hefted the cello to its stand. Geordi had been curious as to what Hugh’s playing sounded like ever since he first mentioned it to Id, and tonight was a beautiful, awe-inspiring surprise that made him think fondly of a certain android’s prowess with a violin.

Hugh, rendered ghastly pale by the holodeck that made his scars and holo-imager remnants stand out against reddened eyes and sharpened canines, gracefully took back his bow from Geordi once he made sure the cello was properly stored. “So tell me, Inspector La Forge: how was your report accepted? Your colleagues don't think of us as _too_ bizarre, I hope.”

“Well- _thankfully,_ the mystery of the Atlas Estate’s _perpetrator_ has been solved, at the very least,” Geordi crooned, “even if the Yard has a hard time accepting ‘bear-sized Hellhound’ as the culprit… _and_ the fact that said hellhound was _not_ the Trios' Killer, but that’s on me to think our mystery would be over so soon.” 

The Viscount was preparing tea to pour for Geordi from the samovar while he spoke. “No. But hellhound-in-question _does_ make quite the newest resident on our grounds, doesn’t she?” Hugh asked with a smirk. “Truth be told, I feel it was a _blessing_ she arrived when she did; who _knows_ what kind of chaos the region would’ve fallen into if her litter had not been born in a place that knew how to look after her young...” 

“Right you are. How’s she faring?” 

“Due any day now. She may be terribly frightening in appearance, but she sleeps with all the peace of an infant as we wait for her _own_ children.”

With his cup filled by his gracious host, Geordi grinned as he took a sip of Puerh. “Odd, isn’t it,” he began, “even _contradictory_ to the popularly-held stigma… that ‘no life could flourish in your kind’s domains.’ And yet here you are; housing mothers-to-be, hosting extravagant, soon-to-be galas...” 

Hugh wagged a finger along with Geordi’s grin. “Then as you can see, that ‘stigma’ is hardly the case, Inspector. It is simply a different _kind_ of life than what the typical individual is used to,” the Viscount mused, sipping tea from his own porcelain cup, “especially when _said_ life is... Well. ‘Undead,’ by the common vernacular.” 

“Odd to put immortality and ‘dead’ so close to one another in namesake and definition.”

“Mm-” Hugh pointed, “you could call it a ‘paradox,’ even.” 

Geordi fully smirked at Hugh’s playfulness, wondering how much xB adaptability would maybe one day lend to some amazing actors coming from Ohniaka III. “Speaking of galas and the like… I must say, Viscount,” the Inspector began, “your invitation to the Winter Solstice Gala that your acquaintances, your _people_ celebrate _,”_ Geordi stressed, “was most kind.”

“It gladdens me to hear such. I might be moreso, depending on what your _answer_ is to that invitation.”

Geordi tongue rolled against his cheek. “I would be _lying_ if I said I wasn’t at all interested in attending,” Inspector La Forge pointed out, “and I _know_ I could definitely use the chance to talk to some of your guests regarding the investigation. However, I must ask… and I apologize if this sounds terribly rude to the Viscount, but: I would be the only... _human_ in attendance, would I not? _One_ human among a _host_ of vampires, no matter how ‘vegetarian’ they are, might be… compromising? Tempting, even.”

Geordi fiddled with his teacup that was now half-full, and the stained porcelain held a lingering, familiar, and pungent scent of iron.

This holonovel was good.

Geordi sipped. “Alluring, perhaps, for my host _and_ his guests.” 

Hugh smiled a pretty, alabaster-white grin that was as sharp as his fangs. “You would not be the _only_ human, Inspector,” Hugh returned, meandering towards Geordi after returning the pot, “not all humans reject the presence of our ilk. Though you _would_ be in ‘reduced company,’ I assure you; my friends and colleagues have quite a handle on our more innate instincts. It might be a bit of a thrill for us and our senses, noticing you and your tantalizing scent and pulse walk by in a sea of undead,” he alluded, “but long gone are our days of ravenous consumption and blind subjugation to the thirst. It is replaced instead with--” 

“Cleverness?” Geordi interrupted, Hugh watching him carefully as the Inspector met him in the middle. “Wit? Personality. _Intrigue,_ even- all wrapped up in one pretty little vampiric vessel.” 

Hugh tried to hold back a smirk. “I thought we were talking about my _people_ , not _me.”_

“Ohh, well, I like to _flatter_ the Viscount; go figure.” 

By the look of it, Geordi certainly had, and the formerly held-back smirk overpowered Hugh as old scars made the xB form new dimples. 

Recovering his mental footing, the Viscount resumed. “Has the Inspector... considered my offer, perchance?” Hugh asked. “I believe I’ve allowed you _ample_ time to contemplate its pros to aid you and your line of work…”

“I have also contemplated its _cons,_ Viscount,” Geordi pointed out. “You would be a terrible salesman if you merely tried to convince me of its benefits. Nothing in this life is without consequence." 

"If it is any comfort, I 'sell' you nothing. I believe it to be a _gift_ , in fact, despite its horrendous origin and the trauma it may inflict. But let's see here: general rejection from the local human populous, aversion to the sun, mandatory diet change, repulsion by holy artifacts:" Hugh listed off on his fingers, "shall I go on?"

The Inspector watched him with a playful glint. "Oddly casual while associating such things to a 'gift'..."

"You grow used to it. As I said: it is merely one form of life that _others_ outside us are not used to... and I, undead for so long, would be more than honored," Hugh alluded, "to be your guide into our form of life- if you so wished."

The Inspector smirked.  
xBs could make convincing arguments, even with ridiculously-collared shirts.

“Are you _sure,_ Viscount Hugh,” Geordi asked, “that your offer to turn me is not rooted in _other_ desires. Is this purely… professional? Business related? Truly, the-- _forward-thinkingness_ of a vampire is not without its foresight… but from what I know of the process _involved_ to sire another vampire _,”_ the Inspector alluded, now standing mere inches apart from Hugh, “it's quite intricate. And intimate.”

Hugh tilted his head and held up an open hand. “Now now, Inspector. I believe that would be a conflict of _interest,_ should I seek to turn you for such reasons during an investigation.” 

“Who’s to say people can’t have _multiple_ interests.” 

The Viscount bit his lip. “Then what would _you_ call that interest of yours, if not a conflict?” 

As Hugh spoke, Geordi hummed in thought and raised his hand to press against Hugh’s chest, his fingers ruffling over coat and collar. “Well, let’s see; attraction… relevance… desire, want… you realize you’re a little bit better at this descriptor business than I am,” Geordi humored, his fingers toying and twisting at the fabric of Hugh’s blouse.

“You’re doing wonderful, by all counts. And I’m hardly ‘better,’ if your earlier-written prose is anything to judge by.”

“Then whaddya think of that name-calling?”

Though the holodeck had changed Hugh’s superficial appearance, it did not mask the xB’s bodily functions underneath, and Geordi felt Hugh’s heart thudding frantically in his chest. 

Geordi, meanwhile, was trying to swallow his own pulse.

“ _Definitely_ a conflict of interest, Inspector La Forge," Hugh spoke, "But... certainly not an _unwanted_ one.”

With a proud grin, Geordi’s hand suddenly let go of the Viscount's ruffles. “Well,” he started, slowly stepping to walk past Hugh towards a bookshelf, “I certainly wouldn’t be _opposed,_ should an emergency situation call for it... but I must admit--”

And that was when, in a flash and a clatter, Hugh swept Geordi in his grasp to hold him from behind- pressing one hand against his chest, the other around his neck, and the tip of Hugh’s nose resting behind his ear.

Geordi forgot how strong Hugh could be.

“It would be so easy,” he murmured, Hugh's breath dancing above a patch of greying hair. “All it takes is one intended drink. You would hardly feel a thing, I would make it so comfortable for you. And then, Geordi… you could walk among my people and know. You could know, _truly_ know what it is like _-_ to witness life from my eyes. To see the world around us as we do. As undead beings, untouched by that which binds so many of my people… to _sire_ you, properly _inoculate_ you- one, who walks among my people and sees us not as _monsters_ …”

Hugh kissed behind his ear. “What a sight that would be, my dear- to see you as one of _us.”_

And suddenly Geordi wondered, with a cold spear of realization jabbing his gut, if Hugh was also talking about something else.

And as an engineer in love with robotics, cybernetics, an android, and an xB who was so seductively cradling him, a part of Geordi was _also_ curious as to how that version of himself would look.

Something, some _things,_ two small slender things that were cold and like metal, were suddenly resting against his neck, and Geordi realized with an instinctual dread that Hugh’s assimilation tubules were slowly sliding out of his wrist; as if their ends had caught on Geordi’s skin, and the action of Hugh moving his hand over Geordi’s throat was escorting them out…

“I could hear you.”

Despite the thrill of the husky voice and the intimacy of it all, Geordi’s stomach churned and his throat tightened. Fear, apprehension, curiosity, _wonder-_ it all stirred butterflies in his chest that threatened to shatter his sternum, and all he could think of was Hugh pulling him into that pit of a oceanic Hivemind.

Just like that dream.

> `[Closer]`

Hugh’s tubules pressed against him as his other hand held Geordi's chest in place.

“I could know you.” 

Geordi knew he didn’t have to worry; worry shouldn’t even _be_ an emotion he was feeling right now. He trusted Hugh; the xB said it himself that his tubules were converted to act as emergency medical treatment dosages- there was no way he could _actually_ assimilate him.

Geordi felt the tubules continue to slide, out to their full wriggling, stiffening length.

“I could _be_ you--”

The Captain swallowed. 

> _Right?_

“May the Viscount rest assured,” Geordi said very quietly, very carefully, “that you’ve already done the _latter_ two _very_ well.”

Geordi paused.

An unnameable static lingered at the shores of his mind. 

“H-hugh--”

Hugh’s hand twitched, his fingers stiffened, and suddenly the two tubules snapped back into his wrist.

With a start and a gasp, Hugh released Geordi, breathing as he rubbed a hand against his throat where Hugh’s had held him seconds before. Heaven help him, Hugh could be suave when he leaned into these moods- it was only their second session and the xB was already enrapturing in the way he so perfectly played this role… but there was a tangible tensity in what Hugh had just done, just _implied_ \- and Geordi felt nothing but bubbling nerves and guilt wafting from Hugh alongside his creased brow and worried eyes.

The Director’s mouth gaped, his free hand massaging the tender, metallic skin of his wrist where the tubules had emerged from. “I’m… I-I’m sorry,” Hugh scoffed in a disbelieving voice, “Geordi, I, ah… that was--”

“You ah, whew,” the Captain tried to play off in a nervous laugh, “I don’t think I’ve... ever _seen_ those out of you, much less know what they _feel_ like--” 

“I’m so sorry--” 

“Hey heyheyhey, hey,” Geordi urged, placing his hands on Hugh's forearms and running them down till they met his for holding, “it’s okay. It’s not-- it’s not like that. Not anymore, right.”

Hugh’s eyes blinked absently as his hands fiddled with Geordi’s. “Right, right, it's-- they're repurposed, I'm not--... I couldn't. Y-you’re right, I could never--” 

“You just got a little _into_ it.” 

Hugh gave a strangled laugh. “That’s one way to describe it.”

Geordi allowed him some silence so the xB’s chest could slow. 

“You okay?” 

“Yes,” Hugh said, nodding, “yes, I’m alright now. Thank you. I just, ah… this-- may sound… ridiculous, perhaps even _childish_ to you _,_ but I-- thought of something. A memory of mine. You _could_ almost say,” Hugh alluded with a hard swallow, “that a younger version of myself chastised me very, _very_ badly for what I implied to do. And I am-- very ashamed that I let him down just now.” 

A ‘younger version of himself?’ What would Hugh be--

Words, though Geordi was not present with either Hugh _or_ Picard for that conversation, echoed towards him in a slurry of guilt-ridden, anxiety-filled emotion.

> `“Must Geordi be assimilated?”`

Hugh bit his lip and looked down. “Forgive me.”

> `“He does not wish it... he would rather die than be assimilated!”  
>  “Then he will die.”`

“I have grown weak in this area, apparently. ...C-compliant.” 

And Geordi’s heart ached for the man before him, the "Inspector" reaching for Hugh’s beautiful face and practically mushing his paler-than-usual cheeks.

“Ohhh, Hugh,” Geordi cooed, giving him a deep kiss on the lips as his thumbs brushed smooth cheekbones and the rivets of a spider web implant. “Don’t worry about it on my end, okay? You’re alright. If you wanna-- take a break from this holonovel if it’s too close to home, that’s fine; we could--” 

“No,” Hugh insisted, “no, I’m actually having quite a lot of fun with it. I promise you.” 

“I can tell. But it’s-- and I’m not brushing aside anything personal; I’ve just been in my fair share of holodecks gone bad, so it’s not... technical, right?” Geordi asked, “Nothing hardware-related you think is influencing your processors, or- the holonovel might be broadcasting to you?”

Hugh gave a playful, fanged smile. “Nothing beyond the _physical_ protocols.” 

Geordi snorted a much-needed chuckle, pulling his hands back and papping Hugh’s chest with an “Okay, 'Lugosi;' geez--” 

After their shared laugh, the xB slipped into a reflective silence, pulling his gaze up from the wooden floorboards and back to the Captain.

“May I confess something to you, Geordi?”

“You always can.”

Hugh tried a sad smile before wringing his own hands. 

“I… _do_ wonder sometimes,” the xB admitted with a shuddering jaw, “what it would be like if you _were_ like me. The taste you have of it now, Geordi- what you hear from me, what you _feel_ from me… it is hardly a _fraction_ of what we are. What we once _were._ It is difficult to… _verbalize_ these feelings,”Hugh said quietly, “and I am trying my best despite it, but-- you have never _been_ me, Geordi. And I have never been _you_. That is… quite amazing, to me. World-breaking, to that younger self of mine.”

Hugh’s eyes darted all over Geordi- as if the xB was trying to look for augments and implants that were never there.

“I suppose that curiosity, that unknown part of you... lends me the ability to ‘play this part’ well.”

And Geordi, the engineer, the Captain, a man who loved to learn about people and machinery and how it all worked, realized he must’ve looked quite stricken at this confession, because Hugh’s organic brow creased upwards and his red eyes shimmered with worry in the candlelight.

“I have frightened you.”

“No,” Geordi murmured. “No, Hugh. The opposite, actually.” 

Though he felt a wave of confusion, attraction, and a desire to know _more_ from Hugh’s mental direction, Geordi grinned, papping the back of Hugh’s hand that was still on his own cheek.

“I just feel like this is gonna be a fun holodeck for us to do, baby.” 

And Hugh smiled back at him; a smile all laced with elation, fear, flattery, and an instinctual, hungry, _robotic_ stare that Geordi had no name for.

Before either of them could delve further into these implications, the holodeck’s communication channel suddenly chirped from overhead. 

_“EMH and Engineering Junction Five to Captain La Forge and Director Hugh,”_ the Doctor crooned, _“come in, please--”_

Geordi _and_ Hugh took a couple seconds to compose themselves before responding, Geordi running a ringed hand down his face before a hard exhale. “Captain La Forge here, Doctor,” Geordi called, “and Director Hugh is here; what can we do for you?”

 _“Good evening, gentlemen; I know it’s rather_ late _to still be on the sphere,”_ the hologram started, _“but I was running some tests with Director Second Crosis, Five was doing the same with the central apparatus with Atlas in attendance, and ahhhhhh we had some-- what did you say it was Five, some-- ‘technical feedback?’”_

Geordi looked to Hugh as Five could be heard sighing on the other end.

 _“Let’s say we have made a bit of a… ‘discovery,’ regarding Atlas’ compatibility with Borg-related storage devices,”_ Five hinted. _“Come by as soon as you’re able. It’s not an emergency, but your combined presence is... requested.”_

“Thank you Junction Five,” Hugh chimed despite his curious expression, “and, Director Second Crosis; where is h--” 

_“AaahhhHHHHhHHh you’ll-- soon see,”_ the Doctor alluded with a nervous laugh, _“though we can assure you he’s quite fine. Meet us in Chamber 5873 when you are able to.”_

“And Atla--?” 

_“Talk to you soon Sirs goodbye!”_

And with the channel hastily terminated, Hugh and Geordi were free to give each other confused (if humored) looks.

“We’ll resume this talk later?” Hugh asked. 

The Captain nodded. “Talk later. But before we go _anywhere,_ I promise; I’m not mad, okay? It’s alright. If anything, it wasss kinda hot, actually,” Geordi fessed up with dimpling cheeks, “if it wasn’t obvious by my reaction.”

“Oh, it was _very_ obvious,” Hugh followed up with. “I just enjoy hearing you say so. And find it-- quite encouraging, after my... after I, ah--” 

And with a smirk, Geordi couldn’t help it from the way giddiness swelled in his heart to replace that earlier dread; as Hugh managed a sheepish smile after noticing Geordi’s expression, the Captain leaned in, giving Hugh a tight hug and a quick “mwah” on the cheek. “We’ll talk in my quarters tonight with some wine and a _bed_ , how about that. Computer: save and end program,” Geordi called as he pulled back from the hug, and suddenly the moody candlelit mansion melted away, Hugh’s red eyes became brown and blue again, and the xB was left standing inside a blank room wearing an 1890s petticoat ensemble. 

Geordi straightened his own overcoat’s lapel collar with a dramatic pop of the collar. “Should we just head out there like this?” 

“It _would_ be very funny.” 

“Very funny and very _good-looking_ , you mean,” Geordi corrected, “but let’s change; I’ll bet you anything these sleeves are gonna get caught on _something.”_

* * *

**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'  
_ CHAMBER 5873 - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY**

Hugh smirked as he watched Crosis’ hand rub at his mustache. “How does it feel?”

His friend’s voice spoke in an uncharacteristically even tone. “It is… I believe this sensation is ‘scratchy?’”

“That sounds about right, yes. Though if it’s _that_ bristly, he _may_ simply need to increase his conditioner use.”

“Ooo, giving me Namesake gift ideas for Crosis, Director,” Geordi teased, “maybe a real nice shaving blade or something…”

And “Crosis” turned to Geordi, but his organic eye was shimmering with blackened sclera and a cubical, green, glowing pupil. “I am aware of biological humanoid grooming rituals, but am _unaware_ of the details regarding tools and their subsequent culture required.”

The Captain chuckled. “We’ll get you up to speed, Atlas. … As long as _Crosis_ is willing, I guess.”

Geordi and Hugh, changed and transported to Atlas' hull as the chronometer neared 2200, now stood in Chamber 5873 with the EMH and Five as the group scanned Crosis' AI-hosting cybernetic matrix. Crosis had been there analyzing Ursa's brainwave readings and the tardigrade mother's satisfaction with her force field "pen" where she would eventually lay her clutch, and Atlas was there supervising as usual whenever Five and her staffers worked on Chamber 5873's technology, thanks to the Junction's storage and broadcasting device. Apparently, the Engineering Division had been working on refurbishing some of the central apparatus' circuitry, when a spark from a staffer's diagnostic wand caused a surge between a large conical indent they worked on, and Ursa with the spores she grazed from. It produced a feedback jolt that the slot threatened to manifest in dangerous levels towards the the fauna, Crosis and Five realizing too late that the only way to dispel it was going to cause a small EMP before they could fully evacuate the Chamber. Knowing the kind of damage this might do to Atlas's broadcaster, who looked "just as panicked as when he reemerged from V'evik" by Five's recounting, Crosis apparently plunged his assimilation tubules into Five's device before the EMP went off. As predicted and thankfully handled by Five's emergency calibrations, the EMP caused no damage to the room itself nor Usra, but all xBs present were temporarily knocked out along with whatever tools they had... and when Five had awoken, she tried to stir her Director Second who would not awaken, and called the EMH when she pulled back Crosis' eyelid and saw Atlas' eye staring back.

EMH, graciously, had waited to hypospray the sleeping giant awake before Hugh and Geordi had arrived, the Captain and Director helping a _very_ disorientated and overwhelmed Atlas stand as Five explained the situation and EMH acclimated him.

For Hugh, it was almost eerie to see his friend operating in a way that was most certainly not him.  
But if _anyone_ was going to download Atlas in an act to save him from possible damage, it was going to be Crosis.

The Doctor was motioning circles around Crosis’ head with a small tricorder scanner as he watched the xB’s readings. “Crosis’ cybernetic matrix _seems_ to be holding steady,” EMH crooned, “the scans look about the same as they did when Seven and I went over data after our own experiences together. In short, Director: your Director _Second_ here could have a Borg sphere’s AI live in his head _entirely_ rent-free for as long as he wanted.”

“We had some things happen like this with Data; is Crosis’ personality ‘submerged’ like Data’s was in his positronic net?” Geordi asked. “Submergence in _any_ case for an xB probably isn’t the _preferred_ state of being, all things considered, but Crosis isn’t being ‘controlled’ right now or merging personalities, is he?” 

“Oh no no no, Captain,” EMH corrected, “hardly at all. Atlas, it may _feel_ like Crosis is absent, but be _very_ well assured that he _is_ aware of what you’re doing with his body right now. Almost as if he were watching you behind a soundproof window: for _both_ your personhood’s integrity.”

Hugh let out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding. “Good, good. Well then, ah… Atlas?” Hugh tested, looking up at photonic-steered friend, “how are you? We apologize for your ‘rude awakening,’ but ah… how do you feel?”

Atlas swallowed, nodding as if to gather his thoughts again.

“I did not expect smells to be so… pungent,” Atlas murmured, slowly rubbing Crosis’ palms together, “nor _touch_ to be so sensitive.”

“It _is_ quite an experience, isn’t it,” the EMH boasted for him. “Be, ah… _careful_ you don’t get _too_ lost in the thrill of it without proper consent from your host, first. Let’s just say that my _own_ actions with Seven 14 years ago wereee _less_ than desirable.”

“If Five’s storage device is knocked out for a bit,” Geordi realized, “wait to try and re-localize yourself until you’re out of the Chamber, alright? Just to be safe; we don’t wanna risk your program from bouncing around too many places.” 

Atlas nodded. “Understood.”

And it looked like he wanted to _continue_ talking, so Hugh was silent and Geordi, thankfully, followed his lead.

“It is… you must realize,” Atlas tried to explain. “Doctor… _you_ had previously-installed hospitality subroutines. Simulations that mimicked Doctor Zimmerman’s own behavior and bodily functions, so you had familiar references. I, ah… I did _not,”_ Atlas tried to emphasize, Hugh’s heart aching at seeing Crosis’ face so strained with that ethereal eye, “I-- based all senses and interactions with you all off of what I knew from the Collective’s stored archives. It is-- _accurate,_ it is _there,_ but to… experience it, this _inspiration,_ I have-- so much more reference now!” Atlas managed as he held Crosis' face. “There are-- so many minuscule factors I was missing and that I can _add_ and _use_ now! I want to-- there is--” he mashed a hand through Crosis’ bangs with a hard sigh, “forgive me, I feel as if there’s so much to process, and...”

“You are-- probably experiencing some form of ‘sensory overload,’” Five said carefully, “would you say so, Doctor?”

The other hologram was already flipping through his tricorder’s various functions. “By my preliminary scans,” the Doctor spoke, “I agree. I will prescribe you take a walk around the hull with the Director and your vessel, Atlas; perhaps eventually back to _Solstice_ while we three tend to Ursa and the core, here?”

Hugh looked to the Doctor. “Outside the Sphere?” 

“I’m not a member of the Consultation Division,” the Doctor admitted, “but from my _own_ experiences, it might be good to place him somewhere where he can manifest in a controlled environment. Crosis’ quarters may be familiar enough, considering the hologenerator _Solstice_ has onboard.” 

“I see your logic Doctor,” Atlas noted, “and I must agree. Director Hugh: would you accompany me? ...Us? I would like to-- _walk_ to the transporter bay, _my--_ transporter bay; if that’s alright.”

Hugh looked from the Doctor, to Geordi, and then Five. 

All three gave him accepting shrugs of “why not,” Ursa sighing a glowering snore from her nest.

“Well then,” Hugh sighed with a nod. “We’ll be on _Solstice_ if you need u--” 

“A-actually wait, I--”

Atlas slunk off from the group as best he could pilot Crosis’ body, walking as if he were a freshly-severed drone taking their first few steps outside Reprisal. As he was meandering towards Ursa’s force field transept with an outstretched hand, one of the tardigrade’s antennae began to absently lift and sway towards Crosis as if to test his proximity and “scent,” Ursa’s gut expanding as she took in a mighty breath… 

“Atlas--?” Geordi warned, holding Hugh back by the shoulder to his momentary frustration, “I don’t know if that’s such a--” 

“I-- she is... familiar with this body, Captain,” Atlas pleaded. “I simply want to… see. Or. Feel, rather, just let me--!”

Geordi was about to object... but it looked as if he remembered something, and stopped with tightened lips and clench of his fist. 

“B-be careful, please,” Hugh called- for that _was_ his friend Atlas was inside, and Hugh did _not_ want to watch Ursa’s claws tear Crosis to ribbons.

Ursa fumed a pout and her wiggling antenna twitched, as if the huff had told Atlas/Crosis to slow in his approach… and she eventually grumbled another sigh of acceptance, the tendril-like appendage resting on her back as she shifted in the makeshift nest. Atlas, despite Ursa’s apparent acceptance, still meandered very slowly, very deliberately towards the tardigrade despite his uneven pace. 

“You’re curious as to why he does this,” Five said wistfully, all Hugh, Geordi, and the Doctor tearing their attention from Crosis. 

Geordi folded his arms over his chest with a little smirk, Hugh thankful for his sardonic cheeriness. “We oughta take him to a petting zoo after this, is all I’m saying. But yeah, a little bit… you think you know?”

“I’ve watched him as I work, Sirs. And though his origin is unique, he is… as any one of us. He is an xB. An xB who has been tending to this creature as best he can, and for whom touch was something he'd only read of.” 

Crosis’ placed an open palm against Ursa’s carapace, and Hugh noticed Five's fingers and thumb absently rub together as she watched him.

"I still remember when someone held my hand for the first time after it was resurfaced, after all."

Hugh smiled at Five’s wisdom, setting a hand on her shoulder and watching his friend’s hand carefully pet Ursa’s bumpy carapace as EMH hummed thoughtfully behind them. 

“Five is… quite correct, actually,” the Doctor mused. “A photonic never forgets their first, fleshy host.” 

Geordi turned back to him with an almost affronted face. “Could you have phrased that _any_ other way--” 

“I suppose my verbiage _did_ leave something to be desired.” 

And while Geordi and the Doctor bickered, both he _and_ Five were wholly enraptured with the sight of Crosis sitting cross-legged with Ursa as her antennae bopped the top of his head.

Once Atlas had his fill of ensuring Ursa was placated and the team was able to form a plan, Hugh led Atlas up and out of Chamber 5873, the hologram marveling at the sensation of being "winded" for the first time as they emerged from the long spiral staircase. He would run Crosis' augmented hand along the surface of his own halls as they walked and was quiet as he listened to Hugh's recounting of his and Geordi's holonovel, Atlas finding that sounds were quite interesting to "listen" to rather than merely "record" as a hologram. Before the entrance to the sphere's transporter bay, Hugh took him by a catwalk with a rather extraordinary view of space outside, and Atlas' hand recoiled at the crackle of the window's force field.

Atlas' hand, normally, would simply phase out at this action.   
But as Crosis, he smiled at the sensation of feeling concrete, reactionary feedback.

And not five minutes later after a jaunt out of _Solstice's_ transporter bay past a _very_ confused-looking Ensign, Hugh and Crosis made it to the Director Second’s _Solstice_ quarters, the door sliding shut behind them with Hugh inputting enhanced privacy protocols. 

“Well,” Hugh sighed as he fiddled with the touchpad, “that was ‘fun,’ I like to think; how are you, Atlas? Did you still want to try and eat or drink something? We are in Crosis' quarters, I know his replicator in here is programmed for portions that won't make him ill...” 

When Hugh looked to Atlas at his silence, he watched the photonic rubbing a hand against Crosis’ uniform harness as he regarded his friend’s full body mirror, opening and closing the other as Atlas regarded his current reflection.

Must be odd, considering the two’s current situation.

“I, would… like your opinion on something, Director Hugh,” Atlas said as he turned from the mirror, “about Crosis. Not-- regarding food or drink; I do not want to cause sickness on his behalf. But thank you. My question is, ah-- ...it is-- upon reflection, it’s more of asking a ‘theorized permission.’ As I said, I don’t want to do anything without Crosis’ consent while he is _observing_ me, while he doesn’t have _control._ But you know him very _well,_ and therefore you could guess his _reactions_ and _approval_ to certain things, so--” 

“I’m happy to assist you however I can, Atlas,” Hugh assured him, “but you have to tell me what it _is,_ first. This is Crosis’ quarters, nothing will disturb us. What do you want to know?” 

Crosis’ mouth squirmed under his mustache. 

“Do you think I could take his shirt off?”

Hugh’s eyes widened and he stared at the hologram inside Crosis, and his friend’s face was five shades of red.

But everything besides that imagination was pure noise, and Hugh could only think of one proper response:

“I ah. Uh. Hm. ...Why?”

“N-nothing for-- not, no!” Atlas insisted in a flair of panic, “no no no, I just--”

Crosis’ hands suddenly held Hugh’s biceps. “Please. Listen. We are not each other, I am not in your _mind,_ Director; so you must _listen_ to me, as Crosis does. Do you?”

He was quiet, the sensation of his friend’s hands gripping him so tight shocking. 

So Hugh nodded, eyes locked with Crosis’ glowing gaze. “I do. Please: speak, and I will listen.” 

Atlas straightened again, Crosis’ hands slowly letting go of Hugh and absently rubbing together. “When I led Ursa down into Chamber 5873, the way I displayed myself therein my actions… it was-- fun? Yes,” Atlas decided on, “It was good. Appropriate. It was a rush of… _inspiration_ I had not expected, and I-- find my program often lingering on the memories this day. And Crosis, he is… I took further inspiration from what he tells me of his ‘wrestling club.’ From what I remembered of his physique.”

Atlas, with Crosis’ voice, was shaking.

“From what I remember of _him.”_

He wiped underneath Crosis’ eye.

“Until now, for all my simulations and references and _everything_ my program’s tried to recreate, I have-- never _felt_ physical sensation before,” Atlas admitted, a hand laying over his chest. “And from what I sense now… Crosis feels very right, if that makes sense. And I think… having his reference will help me, when I leave his body. So-- do you think I--”

Hugh, folding his hands together, sat back on Crosis' quarters couch and looked up to Atlas. 

His heart ached, terribly and beautifully, for his people. 

“You know I can’t speak for my friend,” “Hugh admitted with a face full of empathy, “but I hear you. I think I understand. If Crosis’ presence is here, there’s no doubt _he_ is also listening. And you know by now,” he laughed lightly, “how good he is at that.” 

Hugh unfolded his hands, and held out an open palm for his clothes with a smile. “The clasps for his harness are on the left, near its base.”

Atlas smiled using Crosis’ face, and Hugh felt an odd sense of peace knowing Atlas could make his friend smile so brightly.

As Atlas made quick work of undoing the harness and shuffling his way out of Crosis’ longsleeve underneath, Hugh’s heart aching as he watched Atlas turn back towards the mirror and run Crosis’ hand down over his friend’s gnarled chest. The sight of his friend was always nice (and Crosis probably caught Hugh smirking at his body occasionally), but the photonic made him breathe deeply, flex, and watch his reflection with an intensity Hugh was surprised at. For as strong, strapping, and beautiful as his body was, Crosis bore the scars that were laced with painful memories of Lore that would be with him forever.

Just as Atlas’ hull was morphed into whatever the Collective had wrought upon him, Hugh supposed. 

Atlas made Crosis swallow, his thick eyebrow creased upward and his mustache wriggling while the hologram tried to form words. “He is striking, Director Hugh. His body does not _feel_ damaged, despite how it may look.”

“It was _once,_ I’ll give you that. He does have chronic migraines due to his felled ocular implant, however... but you have already seen that _most_ xBs are disabled in one way or another.”

Atlas was quiet. 

“Is this how _you_ look?” 

Hugh grinned. “Sort of. The scars under Crosis’ pectorals are similar enough to my own, though his are wider.”

“He was a labor drone, I am able to tell.”

“Yes. And the only labor he does now is whatever he chooses to give in service for our people.”

Hugh’s lips pursed in thought of something. 

“And you are one of those people, Atlas. In more ways than one.”

Atlas turned back to Hugh at his words... and after a moment of rubbing Crosis’ palms together, he lumbered the xB’s body towards the couch and sat at Hugh’s side, his eyes forward and still on the mirror.

“This life of yours, that you live,” Atlas said quietly. “It is quiet. It is heavy.”

Hugh swallowed. 

“Yes,” he agreed. “But it is also beautiful. And I think you’ll find, that… there is a very unique beauty, in carrying that weight. You are not alone in shouldering its burden. If it helps,” Hugh offered, “the words you speak, in either _this_ language or the one we all once spoke- they make this life not so quiet. They bring comfort.”

Hugh rolled his jaw as spontaneity struck him while thinking of Atlas’ ethereal words shuddering through the sphere.

“They _inspire,_ even.”

And Atlas laughed gently, quietly, and Hugh’s cheeks began to ache from smiling so much.

After a small quiet, his friend’s chest sagged with a sigh. “I will transfer out of Crosis now, if that’s alright.”

“No need to ask me permission,” the Director assured him. “I will escort you to the wall’s PADD input in case he’s disorientated and I must provide support.”

Atlas nodded, and suddenly Atlas placed Crosis’ hands over Hugh’s to hold them.

“Thank you,” the AI told him. “Crosis has told me how much touch _means_ to xBs. I… feel I understand why, now.”

“I am glad to have been a part of your learning, Atlas. You have taught me many things too, and… I trust you with Crosis.”

And with a dawning realization, Hugh wondered if this is how Geordi felt when he spoke to Crosis after the Gala.

With one more squeeze of hands and a scrunch of his mustache, Crosis’ body rose up from the couch and walked towards the control panel near his quarters’ door, Hugh following close behind and placing his hands on Crosis’ back and forearm. Atlas balled Crosis' augmented fist to the screen, and assimilation tubules shunted out of his knuckles and into the hardware interface ports as the photonic xB downloaded himself onto the Starbase’s hologenerator. Hugh watched Crosis’ eye fizzle out from that black and green glow, and as the touchpad trilled in confirmation of accepting a new program, Crosis’ tubules snapped back into his hand and he staggered into Hugh’s support.

“Crosis--” Hugh breathed as his hands tightened on the el-Aurian, “Crosis, are you--?”

“Ughn- Hugh?” 

“I’m here, I’m here--” 

And before Hugh could say anything else, Crosis snatched him into a deep hug as he fell back against the wall, the el-Aurian smushing his nose and mustache against the top of Hugh’s head.

His friend, oh, it was his friend, and Hugh buried his burning face and relieved shoulders against his friend’s bare chest to kiss his mangled skin. 

“Are you alright?” Hugh managed, “a-are you sound?”

“I’m fine,” Crosis assured him, “I’m alright, I…”

One strong arm unwound from holding Hugh’s body, and Crosis sniffed as he wiped at his eye. “Augh, that was… you--” 

“The Doctor told us you could be aware of everything, just as Seven was when he was in her matrix,” Hugh said quickly, “were y--” 

“Yes,” Crosis finished for him, “yes I was, Hugh. I saw, heard, _knew_ everything, it was…”

Crosis pulled Hugh back so he could look at him. 

Hugh did not break his stare.  
A familiar ache swelled behind his sternum.

And he kissed his friend deeply, wholly, and his chest ached all over again as Hugh’s eyes grew wet and he re-buried himself against Crosis. 

“I hope that was-- were you alright with that?” Hugh asked with a tight throat, “your uniform? Anyone else I would’ve never _, ever_ spoken for you; I _still_ don’t, but--"

“I saw you _looking_ , you little--” Crosis tried to laugh, but was interrupted by a sniff as he rubbed his face once more against Hug’s head. “But it was fine,” Crosis assured with a nod, “it was fine. I’m glad you did. He needed that; I could tell. Anyone _else_ and I would object, but Atlas… h-he said such sweet things about me, I…” 

“You are a sweet _man_ , Crosis,” Hugh assured him. “It’s only fitting he describes you as such.”

Crosis chuckled with another strained sniff and squeezed him again for that, Hugh feeling Crosis stand up straighter against the wall and regain his balance as he looked around his quarters. “Atlas transferred into _Solstice’s_ hologenerator, right?” Crosis asked, “where is he?” 

“Probably doing the same as _you_ are, my friend,” Hugh mused, “diagnosing himself, gaining his bearings after an experience like that…”

“Good points. I hope he’s-- not _embarrassed_ or anything, I ah-- worry for him. And I want to speak to him again sooner, rather than later.” 

“I understand, and I will leave you two when he returns.”

“How was it for you?” Crosis asked, “was I… I don’t know- odd to watch? I remember things, of course, but--”

Hugh could answer that question in many ways, but he thought it better to keep it at a simple reply for his friend. “Well, you _did_ look quite handsome with his eye.” 

“I’m _always_ handsome,” Crosis humored, Hugh prying himself off his friend as Crosis walked and stretched his arms, “with or _without_ a hologram’s glamour.” 

“Ohhh, ‘glamour,’ I like tha--” 

And before they could continue their conversation, the touchpad trilled behind them with the arrival of an entering hologram, and suddenly Atlas phased into existence with his back turned to them.

He was taller. Though Atlas was hunched over as if still adjusting to his new projection, the hologram was now barely centimeters shorter than Crosis, his shoulders broader and chest more pronounced as Atlas opened and closed his hands to himself. His hair, where there was once an even buzzcut, was now long and fastened back into a “ponytail” of micro locs and and running over the fabric of his dark, green-hemmed overcoat. As Atlas straightened his posture and turned to the two, it was shown he had a full beard with that same speckle of grey dashed throughout it, and his hauntingly-beautiful eyes shone just as brilliantly as the Reclamation Project badge did on his taut chest.

“Good evening, Directors,” Atlas said pleasantly, and his face split into a dimpled grin as he held his hands together. “I realize you may be surprised with the sudden change, but… inspiration struck me. And I thought best to enact on that before I manifested once again.”

If Hugh was this speechless, he could only imagine the words that Crosis was trying to search for. 

And yet somehow, Crosis was the first to speak. “Y-you,” his friend stammered, Crosis stepping slowly towards Atlas, “you are… you were--” 

“I _am,”_ Atlas said now, and that grin spread fully into a smile. “Thank you for ‘hosting’ me, Crosis. I feel as if we had… much to _teach_ each other, from that experience.”

“Yes,” Crosis agreed, “you’re right. I learned very much from you.”

“Are you alright with me having removed your longsleeve and harness?”

Crosis nodded. “I only thank you for asking so vehemently for permission.”

“There was a reason I did not indulge in the thoughts of attempting to eat or drink.”

“My body thanks you. But… that’s not to say I wouldn’t offer you the chance in the future.”

Atlas smiled.

As Hugh stood there stunned, Crosis meandered closer to Atlas with outstretched hands, and Atlas closed that gap by setting a hand on Crosis’ hip and one on his shoulder. Hugh saw his friend’s chest sag under the weight of touch, and Atlas brushed under Crosis’ eye at seeing his wet cheek. 

"I apologize. That was my doing.” 

"Not all of it,” Crosis admitted. “Hugh can testify that I’m one easy to tears.”

"Something you have in common with Hyades, then." 

"Don't, don't mention her," Crosis said with a weepy smile and a shake of his head, "I _will_ start to again if I think of her now. If she wasn't regenerating right now, I'd say we visit her."

"I agree. Let us plan to soon and tell her everything that's happened." 

With newly-confident hands, Crosis reached back, setting a hand on the hologram’s shoulder. For the first time, from what Hugh had seen of encounters with Atlas, the hologram’s grip looked steady in his matrix's makeup.

Crosis’ lower lip firmed as his eye darted over the man. “The beard?” he tried to laugh, the el-Aurian’s free hand holding one of Atlas’ locs, “the hair?”

“Adjustments to my program’s appearance that I had been pondering on for a while. But since experiencing the touch and the feel of both facial hair _and_ a longer hairstyle for the first time, I… feel I have the full experience, now. A proper emulation that I wanted to be able to replicate.” 

Atlas, with a face full of peace, took Crosis’ hand that was holding his loc, and instead placed it to cusp his jaw where his beard was. “It is not a mustache. But it is mine, and I share it with you. ...Tell me how it is. If it is accurate to how it should feel.” 

Crosis motioned his hand back and forth.  
Atlas' beard was short and trimmed much like Captain Riker's, and framed his jawline perfectly.

“It feels… like Atlas,” Crosis said sweetly. “And I think I quite like that.” 

And for as beautiful as this was to watch unfold, Hugh knew that he should leave his friend to his own experiences.

“I will take my leave of you both for the evening,” Hugh said quietly, and both Crosis and Atlas jumped as if remembering Hugh was even there. Crosis looked back to his friend in the arms of the hologram and, with a face drenched in appreciation and love, firmed his lip and nodded. 

“Thank you, Hugh.”

“I thank you as well, Director,” Atlas said smoothly. “For your help. Wisdom. …'Direction.'"

Hugh’s cheeks tugged him a grin. “You have the 'Second' best at it in your arms, Atlas. Have a good night; both of you.” 

Before Crosis’ quarters door shut behind him, Hugh stole a glance back over his shoulder, and he was very proud and flushed to have accidentally caught a glimpse of his friend’s first kiss to a hologram.

Hugh stood to the side his friend's room and crossed his arms to hold his cheek, deep in thought and deeper in reflection. 

He should be calling Geordi, Five, and the EMH to let them know of his friends' condition. That Atlas was successfully synched to _Solstice's_ onboard hologenerator, and Crosis seemed sound of mind after their romp as one body. 

But all he could think of was the residual... happiness? Satisfaction.  
The _love_ he felt for his friend. 

And with firming, squirming lips, Hugh thought back to his own words with Geordi in their holonovel not hours before, and he tried desperately to quash that selfish, yearning, _instinctual_ longing he felt for Geordi to also know him in such a way.

> _[Was it so wrong to want that]_

"Hey," came a voice.  
And Hugh opened his eyes to see Troval in off-duty pajamas and a beanie in front of him, presumably walking back from the xB Wing's common area with a mug of tea in their hand.

"You alright?" 

Hugh smiled, nodding and breathing a "yes" as he brushed under his eyes. "We have much to discuss in tomorrow's debrief." 

Troval's eyebrow rose, looking between the door and Hugh. "Something happen with you and him?" 

"In a way," Hugh alluded, "but I will not speak for our friend's experience. Nothing bad, however. You could call it... 'inspiring,' even." 

"Atlas, isn't it." 

"Oh yes." 

And Troval smirked as they tossed up her hand, Hugh chuckling as Troval's prosthetic hand plapped him on the shoulder before trotting back off to their quarters.

Eventually, after confirmation of Ursa's wellbeing with Five, Geordi, and the Doctor, the three made their way back towards _Solstice_ with Hugh to greet them in the transporter bay. EMH went to retire his mobile emitter to its charging port, Geordi and Hugh walking Five back to her quarters with Two greeting her at the door. After their quarters door closed, Hugh asked sheepishly to stay the night with Geordi, and he obliged him with a yes of a kiss, filling the Captain in on extended details Hugh felt appropriate to share as they proceeded back to the Starfleet wing of _Solstice._

As Hugh finished his recounting, Geordi pondered aloud. “So then why did _you…_ huh.” 

Hugh looked to Geordi and watched the Captain fold his arms and rub his beard. “Geordi?” 

“I wonder why Crosis isn’t blending like you and Atlas did when _you_ interfaced, y’know,” Geordi pondered. “Maybe it’s just ‘cause it’s the hologram’s AI program and not the physical ship? Maybe it’s because Atlas has a… better _idea_ of himself now as an entity and can separate brainwaves,” he theorized, “or maybe it was the energy signature the device gave off? Hm, that’s… a lot of possibilities, huh.” 

Geordi laughed at nothing in particular. “This little sphere just keeps getting more interesting every day.”

And although Hugh launched into the same wonderings thanks to Geordi’s musings, he could not help but grab for the spontaneous humor that nipped at his attention. “Atlas is _hardly_ 'little' by my understanding of the ratio.”

Geordi's face split into a smirk with a head tilt and a tsk. “Oh you’re _right_ , huh; he’s kind of a _big_ man now, isn’t he--”

And Hugh laughed loudly as he and Geordi rounded the hallway and headed towards Geordi’s quarters.

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - DECEMBER 15, 2391]  
VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'  
_ CHAMBER 5873 - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY**

Although the EMP seemed detrimental at the time for on-site staff, Captain La Forge and Junction Five discovered that it was exactly what they needed to kickstart technical discoveries into Chamber 5873. The readings they were able to take proved that the spores, somehow, worked as a sort of conduit with whatever this uplink machine's purpose was, and that somehow was tied into how, after a week's worth of reviewing footage and confirming nothing had been corrupted with her arrival, that Ursa arrived aboard Atlas by seemingly appearing out of thin air. The conical indent fit a nearby-abandoned storage cylinder that had trace remnants of argon and xenon gasses along with spore samples, the base machinery seemed to respond well enough to the canister's insertion... 

Geordi and Five had a hell of a puzzle on their hands, but that wasn't to say they in any way loathed that.

Puzzles were fun, and engineers were good at solving them. 

The Captain took the next three days to work alongside the Engineering Division in Chamber 5873, Geordi feeling like a gardener as he trudged around in thick working pants, arm-length gloves, and a mask to prevent excess spore inhalation. The xBs and Starfleet staffers were good at taking their time cleaning off excess _stellaviatori_ growths, doing delicate diagnostic work for panel circuitry, and they had plenty of interval breaks considering Ursa would claw at the force field to indicate she "wanted out" for feeding and general meandering before lumbering back in her nest of a pen. The Doctor and Troval expected Ursa to deliver her clutch any time and they warned she may stay a week or so before departing again, at which point the transept would be built over with Atlas-guided architecture to provide the best possible protection for the near decade-long incubation. 

The machinery was all coming together. Geordi and Five were making excellent progress on the hardware, EMH and Troval monitored Ursa's health, V'evik fine-tuned the once corpse-riddled alcoves by studying Hyades' implants, a black-and-green eyed Crosis expedited certain work under Atlas' influence, and Hugh helped where has requested or required.

Id, meanwhile, presented a problem.   
Not of her own doing, surprisingly, but she presented a problem that Geordi knew they'd have to face in one way or another.

And that problem was that while the _physical_ end of this excavation was proceeding as planned, the team found that they needed the _programming_ and _software_ originally created to operate this device, and that was hard considering any memories or data relating to Chamber 5873 had been completely purged.

To her credit, Id offered a solution to the group while they held a meeting of all himself, Hugh, Crosis, Atlas, V'evik, Five, and Id in the Chamber.

But that didn't mean Geordi had to like her solution. 

"What you're proposing, then," V'evik picked up for her, "is a molecular reconstruction of the programming files once found in the Sphere's network using a total interface."

"That's Romulan, isn't it?" Geordi pointed out, "molecular reconstruction? Not only is it _outlawed,_ but the Romulans aren't exactly willing to share; much less with the Federation, and _much_ much less with the Cooperation." 

"Where do you think the Romulans _plucked_ it from, Captain La Forge," Id crooned, her smirk wide and prideful as she steepled her prosthetic fingers. "To my knowledge, there _are_ no laws preventing the _Reclamation Project_ from utilizing it. Five and I should be able to constitute a basic package file to reconstruct the information once a source point is found."

"But that still involves _finding_ the information within the hull," Atlas pointed out, the AI at Crosis' side using Five's storage broadcaster, "which would require a total uplink interface. And you _know_ my program will not react well upon interacting with such information."

"Well, _I_ certainly can't do it," the former Queen scoffed, "someone put me under _quite_ the lock and key to prevent that, regrettably enough." 

"Hyades can't," Crosis told them all. "You all know that's far too much to ask of her in the state she's in now."

Geordi agreed in a quiet nod.  
And he could've bet his Captain's pips at who'd volunteer next.

“I’ll do it,” Hugh spoke. 

A silence fell over the chamber as Id’s eyes glanced up from her work.

Geordi ran a hand over his mouth. “You’re--” 

“It _has_ to be me, doesn’t it,” Hugh said with a resigned face. “I’ve already done it once. There’s… Crosis said it himself; we cannot expect Hyades to do such an intensive search while interfaced; she’s still too freshly severed. Revealing something _physical,_ Geordi, a _door lock_ at a basic _access point-_ that is _simple_ compared to what must be done here. And since _Atlas_ can’t, if _Id_ can’t, then…” he nodded with a swallow, “it must be me. I have... already had the _experience_ with this sort of deep exploration of hardware and software, after all; Atlas’ program will not be there, perhaps it will be better--” 

“We all saw your state when you re-emerged from your interface the first time, Director,” Five pointed out. “What makes you certain _this_ occasion won’t damage you as deeply as last time? You are not a program, your thoughts do not carry like they used to--”

Geordi watched Hugh’s lips tighten. “I am _not_ certain. But if we ask _others_ to do something I am not willing to do for the sake of my own comfort, what good of a ‘Director’ am I?”

The Director frowned. “No. I will not sacrifice others to do something I know I am capable of withstanding.” 

“ _Physically_ , yes,” Crosis tried, “but--”

Now it was Geordi’s turn. “Hugh, think about this. We’ve got some time to figure this out until the package reconstruction software is built, maybe in that time we can--”

“We need this _solved,”_ Hugh stressed, “we need to-- figure out the depths of this technology so we can _focus_ again on what we _should_ be doing here. Reclaiming lives, giving these people a new home, a new _life._ I am… _fascinated_ by this mystery, Geordi, and I want to know what the Borg were working on _too_ , but-- not when we could be pointing our efforts primarily towards better things.” 

“We do not want you _dead,_ either,” Crosis objected. “And who knows if all it took was one more total interface to finish you off.”

As Geordi listened to Hugh try to reason with Crosis and vice versa, Geordi also noticed Id watching the two from where she was at her console. It was not the leering stare she’d given Hugh so many times during their early Consultation sessions, not an annoyed snarl like she’d huffed when the former Queen had tried and failed to connect to Atlas before- nor was it a shit-eating grin, as if she were happy that Hugh was subjecting himself to yet another uplink of this caliber. Instead, it was almost… Geordi pulled out Hugh’s mental thesaurus for this one: wistful? Ominous. A _knowingness_ seemed to bag Id’s already-heavy eyes and her jaw tilted upwards, the former queen standing up straight as her two-meter tall body rose to its full height. 

“He _will_ do it,” Id spoke suddenly, smoothly, and suddenly every xB drew their attention from the Directors’ debate to listen. 

“As much as you may be _repulsed_ to the idea, Hugh is correct. The information, if it _did_ still exist, would be buried far too deep for any unfamiliar to access- the shock of a fresh interface with no AI schematic to cushion your minds would kill you all. For very different _reasons_ , of course, but I believe your Director here is the most _well-equipped_ , considering his previous usage and _survival_ of said experience.”

“And what gives you this right to speak _over_ him--?” Crosis said with a gruff voice, “to speak _for_ him in this matte--” 

Id squinted at him as he approached. “ _Your_ refurbished cortical node would explode 10.56 seconds upon uplink to core processor functions, if your _vacant ocular implant site_ did not rupture first due to circuitry feedback, _Director Second,_ ” Id told Crosis matter-of-factly. “I’m not certain how much _use_ you are to the Executive Director _or_ the Reclamation Project with half your head blown to smithereens.”

Crosis knew it was inefficient to argue with her, and a faltering jaw shut him up along with any hope of debate. 

Id’s lips were tight. “Would anyone _else_ like a prognosis if they want to risk the same, foolhardy venture? I can provide equal or _higher_ levels of detail.”

The Junctions looked away with various degrees of frowns and disdain.

Id huffed. “Then it is settled. I shall loo--”  
“You’re going to work for me,” Five suddenly spoke.

The former queen stopped. “Come again?”

“As Lead Junction of this Project’s Engineering Division, I am informing you that you will be under _my_ compliance to help assist me in building this software; so that it does not kill the Director, and that Atlas' still-dormant drones remain undisturbed until we Reprise them.”

Five paused. “Do you understand?”

And with a suddenly-raised brow, Id slowly tilted her head with a smirk, resting one hand on her hip and gracefully flexing her fingers with the other. 

“Perfectly. Now:” she suddenly waved her hand, “If I may let you all discuss these plans further, I’m off for a light; I’m afraid I’ll accidentally blow this _whole_ chamber up if I make one foul puff of smoke.”

And she backed out on those stilt-like legs with graceful steps towards the spiraling entrance, the green of Id’s skirt and headwrap trailing behind her as she left the crowd.

Hugh sighed, and then looked to Five. “Do whatever you want with her.” 

The victory from Five’s grin was almost palpable. 

With an “I will return,” Hugh was about to skitter off to follow her like he’d done a few weeks ago, but Geordi raised a hand and scooched in front of him with a hushing finger to his mouth, eyes darting in between Hugh and which way she’d slipped.

“Let me try talkin’ to her, okay?” Geordi offered in a quiet voice. “Do what you need to do _here_ ; let’s see what _me_ having a heart-to-heart with her will do.” 

“If she’s even _willing_ to talk to you...”

Geordi tilted his head and gave him a look that could only be described as “puppy-eyed.” 

Hugh’s glance darted over Geordi, he tightened his mouth… and he rolled his eyes, nodding and beckoning his head towards where she’d gone. 

“Quickly. She walks fast.” 

“No, you’re just _short_ like I am,” Geordi pointed out, and with a smirk the Captain turned on his heel to follow after the former Queen.

The sound of Hugh's playful scoff would have to be his good luck charm for the trip.

The stairs gave Geordi some time to think, if not also a workout. Geordi panted as he thought about what another interface could mean for Hugh; what was the implication, if the ship’s inherent AI wasn’t there anymore? He would have to emulate all the non-singular qualities of the Borg once more; Hugh, not concentrated, would be spread out over the entire ship…

Or maybe it’d be fine, and they were horribly overthinking this and he _would_ be alright.

Geordi stopped to huff at the top to the stairs, leaning against a catwalk railing as a hand settled on his hip. “Jesus-- Christ, Id,” Geordi panted, “that was probably-- what, five? Steps for you? Six?”

Id sneered at him, already down the corridor and leaning against the wall’s indent as she flicked on her pen. “He sends _you_ after me, then.” 

“Ohhh, actually, I-- _volunteered_ to come talk to you!" Geordi retorted in steadying breaths, "just-- gimme a minute--"

"How charmingly inefficient that little organic suit of yours is."

"Hey, I'm in- pretty okay shape for 56, lay off..."

And Geordi, after a small while huffing, regained his composure as he tugged his uniform shirt down. “Anyway... Figured it might be good to talk to someone a bit _removed_ from all this, y’know.” 

You think that gives you an advantage in this?” 

“Maybe not an _advantage,_ per say. But you’d be surprised at what looking at something from a different _perspective_ does _,_ now- _that_ could be the real key here.”

“The ‘key?’ The presence of a key implies opening something, Captain. An unlocking of that something.” 

“Maybe something simple, like… opening up a _channel_ with someone. Talking things out. Allowing others in. Which… I’m trying to do now, alright.” 

She watched him as Id took in a long drag of smoke.

“You have not been us. You are wholly _outside_ of us, Captain, and I have not _been_ you- no matter how much we know about you from Hugh and Locu--” she sighed, rolling her eyes, “from _Admiral Picard.”_

The sudden realization that he might be a minor celebrity within the Borg collective was a little mindblowing.

Geordi’s hand went to rub his beard as he pondered her words. “What _do_ you know about me, then?” he asked. “...No, really- I’m kinda curious, actually.”

The former queen watched him. “You like listening to the sound of your own accomplishments?”

“Oh, _you_ were the one who said they were ‘accomplishments,’” Geordi pointed out, “not me. I just wanna know what the Borg around 2374 knew about Lieutenant Commander La Forge.”

Id pursed her lips as she regarded Geordi.

“Since other information can be deemed irrelevant or adaptable into one statement of fact, you will be hearing the following based on those two primary sources.”

Geordi’s brow rose. “Why tell me that? Do they… is there information that conflicts with each other?”

“Not necessarily,” Id said, “I don’t think that is the right word for it.” 

“Then what would you say it is?” 

She pondered this. “Same subjects… but being studied from different places of intent. There: is that a sufficient answer?”

The Captain thought for a moment on what she could be implying.  
If those two subjects were Hugh and Jean-luc… then yeah; he could definitely see the different intentions towards him.

Geordi nodded. “It is.”

“Fine. ...Geordi La Forge:” she started, “at-time of data acquisition, 43989.1 and 45867.25. Lieutenant Commander, Starfleet serial number SC 231-437, Chief Engineer of the _NCC 1701-D USS Enterprise_. 129 field recognitions for outstanding service and highlighted records of performance and ingenuity.”

Id paused. “Headstrong. Amiable to collaborate with. Confident in theories and skillset. Highly intelligent. Reliable for fast and accurate solutions related to Engineering, inter-staff relations, and diplomatic ventures. Resourceful. Gives us food.”

Geordi turned his head at this last descriptor.

“Has a gentle voice,” Id noted, her brow rising as she seemed to mull on the words she herself was speaking. “Took holo-imager technology 13522.13, but gave it back. Speaks slowly, so we may understand. ...The opposite of loneliness.”

Geordi’s gut was knotting in on itself as he meandered to the window beside Id’s view, keeping his eyes fixed on _Solstice_ below them.

“A friend.” 

And the Captain tightened his jaw, for it was all he could bear to do in front of someone like Id.

“How much do you care for him, Captain?” 

Geordi swallowed, slowly shaking his head at the window. “More than you might ever know, Id.”

“‘More than I might ever know’...” she hummed, gnawing on the pen before taking a drag from it. “An abhorrent concept for me, you realize.” 

“Yeah. But that’s… one of the nice things about individual life,” Geordi tried to offer. “You get to keep that feeling. Marinate in it. Let it become a part of you, just as much as it becomes a part of another person. And while I’m a guy who’s all for sharing what can be freely passed around… there’s a sweetness in getting to keep emotions and memories like that for yourself. Because they make a greater part of you.” 

Still, she watched him. 

“You care for Hugh ‘more than I could ever know’… even if you do not know everything about him?”

Geordi finally mustered a grin. “If I love what I already know about Hugh right _now..._ then I think I’m gonna keep liking the more I learn, as time goes on.”

He fully expected her to make a jab, at this point; if anything, Geordi realized a little too late that he’d just given Id a hell of a poker to possibly stoke a fire of Hugh’s with. But once Geordi turned to look up at her, surprise washed over the Captain at the melancholic gaze she watched him with. The eternally eerie green light of the sphere filled the sharp curves of her cheekbones in and highlighted her forehead’s dented impact scar; though Id’s eyes were always watchful, they were in this moment reflective- as if she still thought with all the weight of the Collective on her stretched, pale shoulders.

“‘Love’... that is a rather strong word, Captain La Forge.” 

“It may be strong,” Geordi managed. “But it’s right.” 

And all she replied with was a soft hum of thought and another drag of her pen.

* * *

**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"  
_ EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR'S QUARTERS**

After the plan had been finalized in both reports and inter-staff pledges, Hugh needed a break that the peace of regeneration could not even offer.

And what better way to relax than inviting your station co-manager-also-partner over for a quiet night in.

The programming package would take approximately two weeks for Five and Id to finish so Hugh's interface could go as smoothly as possible, leaving them time to finish the physical cleanup on Chamber 5873 and ensure Ursa was gone and out of harm's way. He was thankful for the kind words the AI left him with before departing from the meeting, Atlas vowing to do what he could internally to help Hugh in his sphere-wide hunt for a file that possibly didn't exist. But even Geordi could see that the idea of Hugh's consciousness being spread so far out like that again was harrowing, to say the least; terrifying, at the most- and Hugh was very thankful the sound of his cello was providing some solace while he waited for Geordi to finish his daily Starfleet report.

Perking up at the sound of a door opening behind him, Hugh's eyes brightened. "Geordi! Forgive me, I neglected to check my chronometer; I can put this away if--" 

The sound of prosthetics tapped against the floor in graceful steps while his quarters’ door sealed shut, and Hugh instantly knew he’d made a mistake.

“Am I _interrupting_ something, Director?”

He sighed, swallowing.

"Ah. Id," Hugh said as his head tilted back towards the instrument. "No you’re not.” 

“At least not _yet,_ obviously,” Id hummed as she approached. “My internal chronometer lends me to hypothesize you are… expecting the _Captain_ , at the top of the hour?” 

“You are correct.”

“So you are _unoccupied_ until the top of the hour.” 

“Correct again.” 

“At least as ‘unoccupied’ as...” she motioned to his cello once she came into view, _“this_ can be.” 

Hugh’s brow rose as his eyes glanced between her and the instrument, instinctively gripping his bow tighter. “You... _do_ know what ‘this’ is, ri--” 

“Don’t insult me- of course I do,” she retorted. “Cello, or _violoncello_ : a bowed string instrument of the violin family, originating from Earth circa 1500CE. It utilizes four strings, and has been adapted to a wide variety of Federation ensembles.”

Hugh feigned his right hand and held out his bow with a tip of his head. “Correct as ever.”

Id watched his little display and mannerisms with a certain level of… what could he call it; bemusement? Disdain? 

Curiosity. With _annoyed_ bemusement.

“What brings you to my quarters, Id?”

“I wanted confirmation,” Id continued. “First, the tardigrade: has she entered into labor yet?” 

“Not yet, though soon. Hyades said Ursa's end-of-day mood was more sluggish than usual, and EMH reported she has begun 'digging.'”

An eyebrow rose. “Taking her time, she is." 

“Who knows how long a journey like hers must've taken to _arrive_ here, Id. The least we could do is offer her a safe space to collect herself before venturing into the stars again.” 

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Hugh caught the former Queen eyeing the cello up and down. “I _know_ you can identify the instrument,” the Director asked earnestly, “do you know any… material regarding it?”

“No. I am aware of popular historical composers from Earth, but the auditory information itself was--”

“Irrelevant?”

The body chains anchored to Id’s golden necklace jingled some as she watched him, tilting her head as she meandered around him in long, graceful steps. Hugh began to calculate whether or not to ask what she wanted, whether or not he should provoke that sleeping giant of a question again…

Until Id, quite suddenly and intently, took the seat opposite from him in one of his quarters’ chairs, her primary deployed hands smoothening the shimmering fabric over her prosthetic legs.

How spontaneous.

Id held her gaze as she sat up straighter in the chair, pointing her chin with watchful eyes at Hugh. “Play something,” she said quite plainly.

Hugh watched her.

She watched him back.

Hugh’s brow raised.

And Id sighed. “ _Please_.”

“Of course.” 

Hugh began to adjust in his seat, his visual UI ensuring the cello was still properly primed. “Any, ah... requests?” 

“As I remind you, I regret to _inform_ that my last archival download did not _include_ popular musicians that specialize in this instrument.”

“Mm. You allow me player’s choice, then.”

“I’m sure it _tickles_ you to know that, coming from me.”

Hugh smiled. “My individuality allows me to tell you that oh, yes, you have _no_ idea.” He strummed once across the cello to ensure its tuning. “I only hope this ‘tickles’ you in turn.”

“We’ll see. ...choose a piece already.” 

So he thought.

> _[Solo]  
> _ _[Something to emphasize practiced and unique traits]  
> _ _[ >Recent/Turn-of-Earthen millennia classical]  
> _ _[ >Yo Yo Ma]  
> _ _[ >[Partita](https://soundcloud.com/silkroadproject/partita-for-solo-cello#t=0:22) for Solo Cello] _

_Perfect,_ Geordi would say. 

“Any time now.” 

With a sarcastic frown, Hugh began. 

It was a soft, non-dramatic piece that allowed Hugh to take his time. Though he knew each note by its factual, Earthen Name-- C Sharp, A Minor, G Major-- it was its own feat to string together those notes off a downloaded sheet into his processors and manifest them into the audible world around them. He did not practice often in front of others, nor did he take to any public stages as xBs were beginning to do on Ohniaka III. For Hugh, this hobby was a meditative solace, and an affirmation of their philosophy that “context behind knowledge” could manifest itself in so many different ways.

But with Id, Hugh knew he had a very precarious audience before him. She watched him closely, silently, calculatively; as any proper Queen would… and Hugh would not doubt the odd, somewhat haunting sense of familiarity that a Queen’s watch had over an xB’s soul.

He _did,_ however, notice something unique halfway into the song. 

The material of Id’s chair made a sound. As if something was sinking further into its cushions, growing accustomed to a place- and her long, emerald skirt caught the edge of his sight as she re-crossed her stilt-like legs.

She was _relaxing_.

Hugh’s grin widened as he continued. 

And by the time Hugh took his last, long strum on the black and gold instrument, he was quite proud of the little makeshift concert.

“Well… what did you think?” 

Id was quiet. Her chin was held high and her eyes were half-lidded in contemplation, taking a chance to sit up straighter as the jingle of her body chains cut through the now silent room. 

She watched him, as she always did. 

“How long have you played this instrument?” 

“Ten years, four months, 16 days. I first saw one in use when our diplomatic team ventured to San Francisco in 2380 for resource trade discussions. We were taken on a tour of the Opera House there, and...”

“And you were that _enamored_ by it?” 

“Yes, actually,” he admitted fondly. “Even then, I wanted to believe we could make similarly beautiful music back home.” 

“Ohniaka III?”

“Of course.” 

She was quiet again, Id’s legs allowing her to amble smoothly through his quarters.

“You call that planet ‘home’ so easily,” Id remarked, “so naturally. Is it truly somewhere you… think appropriate to label it such a term?” 

“Undoubtedly. We have made a home there, Id- and we are very proud of it."

Though Hugh's heart was stoked by love with this confession and confirmation, the Director remembered something. “When you said you wanted confirmation,” he began, “you mentioned ‘first.’ What was… was there a seco--” 

“Yes.” 

She rolled her tight, pale jaw. 

“I wanted confirmation that you are _prepared_ for this interface, Hugh,” Id said. “You may still be _hesitant._ You may still be _nervous._ But I want to hear for _myself_ that you are, at the very least, _prepared_.”

Hugh shut his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek.

“I am still reckoning with it,” Hugh told her, “hence my… _playing_ of this while I wait for Captain La Forge, but-- I will be prepared as much as I _can_ be, Id.” 

The former Queen nodded. “You have prior experience. You will adapt based upon that.” 

“Of course. Your agreement to work under Five is appreciated, as is your… future attendance for said uplink.” 

Id’s brow rose. “I’m sure 'appreciation' is not exactly a sentiment everyone in your little _group_ shares.” 

“No. Perhaps Not. But seeing as-- _I_ am the one who will be enacting the interface,” Hugh pointed out, “I am thankful.” 

Id smirked. “Hm. I thought it was _‘appreciative._ ’”

Hugh rolled his eyes, though he felt his cheeks dimple at the playfulness of her prod.

“In turn,” Id crooned, rising from her chair and apparently deciding she was done, “I 'appreciate' the confirmations, Director.”

“Nothing to say about the cello?” 

“Your attempts to garner praise out of me are noticed, if not obvious,” she said before leaving a pause. “Besides... you seem to be quite confident in your own apparent skill. Rest in that knowledge.”

He smirked tightly. “Right. ...Goodnight Id,” he parted. “I wish you well in working under Five.”

And the former Queen nodded, the tails of her headwrap flowing out behind her as she passed his chair. 

But suddenly, as the last wisps of her billowing skirt left his field of vision, spontaneity struck the Director.

Hugh’s jaw tightened, hearing her long strides approach the door.

And he decided to manifest that spontaneity into words.

“I must admit, Id,” he called, hoping she would stop. 

By the sound of the jewelry that jingled against Id's prosthetic body, she did. 

“Your words, from when we spoke after your failed interface- and what you allowed _me_ to vocalize in turn that day," he tried to explain, "I still find them to be assuring. ‘Wise,’ even, despite our differences… and even similarities, perhaps. I will ponder them again, further tonight- at least before my interface.”

Hugh lowered his head. “Thank you for coming by.”

Her silence was enough of a response. Hugh began to return attention to his cello, the shifting of his seat and instrument helping him to--

By the time Hugh noticed she was approaching him again, it was too late to turn around.

And suddenly, gracefully, Id placed two hands on Hugh’s shoulders, his skin like ice under her prosthetic hands as she craned her head down and hovered like a phantom by his ear.

“It is as I said, Hugh,” she spoke just above a whisper. “I believe you might be more ‘capable’ than you could ever know. Under everyone’s supervision, under _my_ assistance… trust yourself. Your _whole_ self. ...Do you understand me?”

Hugh’s jaw shook, and he swallowed- though it was extremely hard to past the lump in his throat. 

> _[His whole self?]_

He gripped the neck of his cello tighter. “Yes,” Hugh managed. “I do. I will.” 

Hugh sat still as one hand began to trace up his shoulder, past his neck- and before her touch left him, Id’s thumb pressed against the spider web in his cheek. 

“Good.”

Her hand slid off his face. “Give dear Captain La Forge my regards.” 

And the chill that shuddered through Hugh was his only company as Id turned, left, and the door shut behind her.

When silence enveloped the room and clarity came back to him, Hugh set the cello’s bow in his lap; and his hand, shakily, rubbed the cheek Id had touched. 

Maybe he _did_ have more capability that he realized. Maybe he could... what. What? What would he even _do_ with a “capability” like that, Hugh thought bitterly- what other purpose would it have other than for what they were going to do? Why even subject himself to the immensity of a Borg craft again; to that-- harsh, blinding, _erasing_ sensation of… something that would happen again…

Hugh swallowed.

His first attempt was under different circumstances, he told himself. He had tangible a goal, now. A mission. A familiarity, even; an advantage! Besides: Atlas’ program would not be there, and Hugh would be free to search and explore as needed.

Hugh’s hand drifted to the back of his neck, rubbing the top of his spinal augments. He thought of those massive cables, again; how they shunted into his very core, how that unspeakable surge ran through him and how he, Hugh, was suddenly somewhere far, far different…

Hugh's eyes, already heavy, closed. 

Maybe he should just start playing his cello again. 

And Hugh was not paying attention to his internal chronometer when the doorbell chimed, calming his skipping heart and saving himself another fright by actually _asking_ who this guest was. 

_“ <Captain Geordi La Forge.>” _

Hugh let out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding, and put on a smile instead. “Come.”

The door wooshed open, and Hugh’s heart swelled as he heard Geordi’s voice, but… muffled? 

“Hugh!” Geordi exclaimed through a mouth full of _some_ sort of food, “sorry I’m late, mpht-- Bartholomew gave me some latkes she made that are the size of _softballs_ and they’re so _good_ , but- hold on-” 

He paused to swallow. “You want a bite? I think these’d be too rich for you to have a whole one by yourself, babe, but…”

Hugh had finally brought himself to turn around and face Geordi- and either by the faint lingerings in each others’ minds or the melancholy left in Hugh’s eyes, the Captain’s brow rose in concern for him and him alone. 

What a wonderful feeling it was, to be loved by someone like him.

“Hey,” Geordi said softly, “you alright?” 

Hugh tried for a grin. “I am now,” he replied as he picked up his bow again, “or at least I will be, the longer you are here. Would you like... dinner and a show?”

Geordi chuckled. “Where’d you learn that one?”

“Captain Riker.” 

“Why am I not surprised. First, though:” Geordi urged as he leaned downwards, and Hugh drank in a kiss he’d sorely needed that tasted of starch and egg and onion. “Mwah. And second: try this.” 

Hugh examined the food in Geordi’s palm, breaking off a piece of the large thing with the napkin swaddled over its crisp exterior.

“What did you say it was?”

“A latke: traditional Jewish food to make during Hanukkah, and we _are_ on the sixth night of it according to the Earthen calendar.”

Hugh looked over it one more time, and decided that this, perhaps, would help him swallow the lump in his throat from his talk with Id.

He took a bite.

It was _delicious._

Geordi's presence was a balm in more ways than one. Not only was his kind, loving self just what Hugh needed to quiet his millions of microcalculations firing out of anxiety's causation, but he also brought the delicious latke _and_ a rolled marijuana cigarette (also apparently called a "joint") that a former Starfleet colleague of his from Earth had gifted in a replicator pattern after talking the past few days. So, being responsible Captains and Directors, they prepared themselves two sobering hypospray doses in case of possible emergency and smoked the night away, Hugh delighted to find out he had actually _met_ this same Starfleet colleague almost 12 years ago at the Accords signings.

This "Raffi Musiker" seemed like a good person, by Geordi's recounting and what he remembered of their brief meeting.   
Hugh hoped he could meet her as more of himself, once they were finished with this Project.

And the "joint" she gave Geordi, though its smoke could be harsh, was very nice, and revealed its effects on Hugh in the form of wanting to strip down to his silken quarters robe, having _another_ bite of the latke, and curling up against Geordi as Ursa curled in on herself when sleeping.

“How’re you feeling, hun.” 

Hugh readjusted in his seat as he tried to think… but could not, melting further against Geordi. “Mmn; that is too complex a question right now. Ask me something simpler.”

Hugh hoped Geordi could sense his smile as the Captain chuckled quietly. “Okay, that’s fair… how about this: are you physically relaxed right now?” 

“Yes.”

“Am I sitting in a comfortable enough position beside you?”

“Yes.” 

The xB smiled as Geordi’s thumb absently brushed at a hydraulics port indent that poked against the sheen of Hugh's robe. “Good, good; got all that taken care of, then…”

Spontaneity struck Hugh, and he decided to follow it. “Let me ask _you,_ Geordi, since you’ve asked me… how are _you_ feeling?” 

Geordi was finishing a yawn as Hugh spoke. “Mm. Sleepy, first off. Relaxed, but I think that’s implied with _this…”_ he said with a chuckle, wiggling the finished joint’s butt and dropping it in an empty glass on the endtable. “Warm. Comfy, next to you. Full; that paccheri dish off the replicator I ate before coming here was good, but with that latke, oof…”

Though they shared a chuckle and Hugh playfully squeezed Geordi's stomach, Hugh felt the Captain's chest move with a thick swallow and deep breath in.

“A little worried for you, if I’m being honest,” Geordi admitted. “Not because I don’t trust you, but…”

“I understand,” Hugh said quietly. “It is why Id was here earlier; she said she came by to ‘ensure I was prepared.’”

“I’ve seen the way she watches you,” Geordi said, his arm scooting Hugh closer. “Almost like she’s… looking for something. What is that, Hugh?” he asked, “What’s she trying to find?”

Despite how warm Geordi was and how well the THC had calmed him, the crook of Hugh’s neck felt cold again as he remembered Id’s words and touch.

“I don’t know. And that... unsettles me, Geordi.”

The silence was an appropriate company as Geordi’s thumb still rubbed at Hugh's shoulder port.  
He adored how much Geordi loved to touch that part of him with so much care. 

“Well,” the Captain said through a great yawn, “tonight, let’s be the _opposite_ of unsettled, alright? I think the Executive Director deserves a nice, peaceful evening in with his man.” 

That calm from the THC was beginning to make itself known again, Hugh’s smile spreading lazily across his cheeks. “The Executive Director is thankful.”

"He better be." 

"He definitely is."

Geordi's hand squeezed his shoulder some.

“Wish I could stay the night with you, y’know…" the Captain sighed, "but I want you all nice and charged up, after everything today.”

Hugh snorted at this. “I’m not a _battery_ Geordi, please-” 

“Ohhh, yes you are; yes you are!” Geordi objected, and suddenly Hugh’s chuckling grew to laughing as Geordi’s arm scooped him up and against his chest. “You're a handsome little battery who keeps me powered all damn day with that pretty little laugh of yours--”

And their laughter would only end as Hugh managed “you’re one to talk” from the Captain’s playful grappling, the xB mashing a kiss to Geordi’s stubbly cheek. 

Geordi's hand pulled his head closer for another kiss; this time on the lips, his other hand pulling Hugh's leg over his lap, and Hugh's hand went to wrap around the back of Geordi's neck as his kisses grew deeper.

Hugh was considering trying a beard again, once they were back on Ohniaka III. It had been long enough; maybe his face wasn’t as patchy anymore, and he could actually grow in something solid. 

On a more personal note, Hugh would finally know whether or not Geordi _also_ liked the feel of stubble against his face from a kiss- just as much as Hugh enjoyed it from Geordi.

After Geordi had left Hugh’s quarters with a parting kiss and loving words, Hugh took his prescriptions and went to settle into his alcove, inputting the proper protocol into a touchpad for his regeneration sequence and fetching his crutch- just in case the "joint" rendered him more relaxed than usual and his leg would ache at the end of his cycle. The THC must still be affecting him, Hugh thought; for at the sight of the energy pattern’s signature, he thought of the “battery” metaphor again, and the sweet kisses and their subsequently-pleasing actions wafted back to the xB. His palm lingered on the touchpad's metallic surface, and Hugh’s heart ached at the fact his final thoughts before regeneration would be how dearly he missed Geordi. 

How did Data bear it, Hugh wondered? How did Data bear the beautiful light that was Geordi, and not know him as people who were tied to the cybernetic facets of existence? Was his positronic net simply so deep that it understood things Hugh couldn't even fathom? Did his many years with Geordi simply lend Data to accept the man presence, outside of himself, was all that he needed? Hugh remembered Data's even voice "clear as day," thanks to his capability for memory; how his amber eyes seemed to hold worlds of understanding within them with a simple glance and tilt of the head as he both learned from the world and left his own unique, synthetic impact on the world...

Oh, dear Geordi.  
Hugh did not know Data as well as Geordi did, but how he wished he could've had more time with him.

So, before slipping into the silent stream of regeneration, Hugh's mind wafted back to a time when he felt he _did_ begin to know Data: in 2378, aboard a hospital starship that orbited above Ohniaka III, with him donning a regenerative biosuit, a Reclamation Project gown, shorter hair, and his arm in a similar brace to the one he gripped now.

> Geordi was not here right now.   
> But that was alright; because Data was here with him, facing this observatory window, and Geordi was talking to his new friends the EMH and Seven of Nine.
> 
> “I have been speaking with Crosis,” Data said. “We had much to discuss after his initial apology, considering our past context and our shared history with my brother.” 
> 
> Hugh felt surprise settle in his face. Crosis, still recovering from his surgery and already willing to talk about Lore?
> 
> The more Hugh thought about it, however, the more it made sense. 
> 
> Perhaps the weight of what he’d done, out of all of Crosis’ remnants from his past and the Collective’s implants, was the heaviest and hardest to carry.
> 
> Finally, Hugh nodded. “I hope your conversation was acceptable?” 
> 
> “Very much so.” 
> 
> Data paused to tilt his head. Perhaps this was his way of showing he was looking for words, too? 
> 
> “ _Especially_ so- considering that when we _left_ Ohniaka III, we were not aware Crosis was still _alive_.”
> 
> Hugh swallowed. “It was… a close call as to whether or not he _would_ live, after the phaser fire he took. We used a dermal regenerator’s entire battery to cauterize his wound under his chest’s exo-plating.” 
> 
> “I only regret we did not provide more medical aid before our departure.”
> 
> “No,” Hugh insisted. “It was self-defense, on your part. We do not blame you for lack of action in this area; Crosis was in a dark place during this time. We had much to sort out internally, after you left… and Crosis _himself_ had much to process and overcome in Lore’s absence.”
> 
> Data’s eyebrows rose at something. “Hm.” 
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “It is interesting. Crosis told me a very similar thing.”
> 
> Hugh smiled.
> 
> The former Borg’s attention was drawn to the window beside them, a cargo shuttlecraft approaching the _Keter_ from Ohniaka III’s surface. Data seemed to notice his interest and, following Hugh, went to observe the view of the golden planet below them.
> 
> It had been 10 years since he had seen Ohniaka III in space, and it was much more pleasant than seeing it from within a skyfallen Cube 5219.
> 
> Data broke their silence. “I am pleased to be viewing Ohniaka III from a much more... _clear-minded_ point of view, Hugh, as compared to my state of mind when I was last here.”
> 
> “‘Clear-minded?’”
> 
> “Yes. Upon my previous visit and due to my brother manufacturing emotional reactions from me, I found myself obsessing over the former Borg I killed, and the emotions that I misguidedly tried to recreate. I am glad to be associating Ohniaka III with new, much more _pleasant_ memories.”
> 
> Data turned his head to Hugh at his silence. “Upon this reflection of my actions, it seems as if I owe you and your kin on Ohniaka III an apology _too,_ Hugh.”
> 
> Hugh thought deeply on these words.  
> They were clear, simple, _direct_ words, but their implications were vast and heavy.
> 
> “My friend Ariadne,” Hugh finally said, “said something very poignant once that assists me in coping with those times, Commander Data. Based on our…” Hugh motioned the hand that was not gripping his crutch’s handle, for it helped him look for words, “condition, our situation, our _crisis_ that Lore took advantage of… we were angry. We took pity on ourselves, to a damaging degree. ...We were angry for too long, do you understand? You and the _Enterprise_ saw for yourselves what anger and self-pity does to an individual.”
> 
> “Yes,” Data agreed. “From my own experiences with my rarely-used emotion chip, anger can be righteous. Inspiring, even. But I have discovered and _concluded_ that anger is not a pleasant sensation when used in too great an amount. Moreso... it can be damaging. To not only oneself, but also others around you.”
> 
> Hugh shook his head. “No. Or, rather-- yes. You are correct. ...If it is any assurance, Data,” he continued, “and I’ve found outside assurances to be very _comforting_ from other individuals… that you seem much _happier_ , since then. And while their voices will linger on with us, though I do not wish to speak over the others… I accept your apology, Data. What you did was self-defense.”
> 
> Data made a very subtle face that was indiscernible to Hugh. 
> 
> He wondered if Geordi would be able to identify the emotion in this expression.
> 
> “Geordi speaks many good things in relation to you, Commander Data. It is obvious to me that... he loves you, from what I understand of that _very_ vast sentiment.”
> 
> At this, Data’s previously-indiscernible face morphed into a very gentle, very timid grin, and he turned to regard Hugh again with a similar gentleness Hugh saw in Geordi’s eyes. “Thank you, Hugh. Much like you, I do not have much to be angry at anymore, nor reason to activate my emotion chip to generate such harsh feelings. I can only hope Geordi is provided with the same peace he provides me.” 
> 
> “After speaking with Geordi myself,” the xB said, “I sense that you do.”
> 
> Hugh was happy to know Data also found silence acceptable in others’ company.
> 
> Eventually, Data spoke again: “If you would indulge my curiosity, Hugh,” the android began, "and please feel free to refrain if this is too personal a subject or you have not concretely made plans yet, but… what do you intend to do, once we leave Ohniaka III?” Data asked. “Have you had a chance with your 'others' to discuss the future, after the _Keter_ departs?”
> 
> Many words, many possibilities, many _choices_ echoed back to Hugh as he tried to formulate an answer to this. 
> 
> Perhaps Data saw his mental stumbling, for he tilted his head again as if in thought.
> 
> “I only ask, Hugh,” Data said gently, “because Geordi has spoken to Captain Picard about offering you a civilian’s residency aboard the _Enterprise-E.”_
> 
> Hugh felt spontaneity widen his eyes and quicken his pulse. To be on the _Enterprise_ with Geordi? Data? Beverly? Be able to do what he chose _not_ to 10 years ago? The idea of… returning to a starship again as a wholler version of himself, as _Hugh_ and not as Third of Five- to see the galaxy and explore like he could have!
> 
> _[The others]_
> 
> He swallowed.
> 
> “Has… Captain Picard approved of this?” Hugh asked. “Would the _Enterprise’s_ crew be willing to accept my presence?”
> 
> Data shook his head but kept that same, hard-to-read expression. “I have seen and have been told that it was _not_ an easy offer to negotiate. But despite the hesitancy of the crew... and even perhaps my own _Captain_ , I believe Geordi would make a strong case for allowing your asylum. I know this, because I would _help_ Geordi with that case. And I have programming algorithms that are capable of making _very_ strong arguments.” 
> 
> Hugh paused again.
> 
> "I..." 
> 
> "You do not need to finalize your decision immediately. I merely wanted to propose the offer to you now, Hugh." 
> 
> And that was all the time Hugh needed to finalize his _reply._
> 
> "I am thankful for the opportunity, Data," Hugh stressed, "I truly am. And it would be... good, _more_ than good-- to spend time with you and Geordi and Beverly, aboard the _Enterprise._ I have missed you greatly, and it would be... wondrous? Amazing. Very... inspiring to explore the galaxy with you."
> 
> Hugh lowered his head again, and Data turned his head to let him continue. 
> 
> "But we are still finding ourselves here, on Ohniaka III. There are not many of us, but we-- I-I speak of the others, not myself-" 
> 
> Data nodded. "Of course."
> 
> And Hugh continued. "We made very much here, Commander. We have worked very hard to be people. We are still in the process of this, and now we will be _healing._ Therefore, I am... needed there. Here. With them. Because we still wish to build, we have _plans,_ and... the Doctor and Seven and Icheb have told us it is hard, in the galaxy. So we wish to be prepared. Because we want to know other former Borg too, and... we want to continue to make ourselves something more." 
> 
> Hugh's words encouraged a smile on his own face. "I believe we already are, with the meager resources we've had so far. But with _this,_ now, I... see great things for us, Commander Data. And one day, _we_ might meet you, Geordi, Beverly, and the _Enterprise_ in the galaxy too."
> 
> Data nodded. “After listening to you and speaking with the other xBs, Hugh... I believe I understand your situation, to a certain extent.”
> 
> Hugh leaned his head up to watch Data. “You do?”
> 
> “Yes. For many years, my ultimate goal was to ‘become human.’ But I have learned, that… I will never fully _be_ human. At least: I will never be what a conventional human is. And I have come to understand that is alright, despite what others may expect of me, or how they might _regard_ me for those differences. While I was initially inspired by human behavior around me and I attempted to emulate the best qualities in that I wished to partake in… I am an android,” Data said. “I am not human. I am inherently _different_. And I believe… Geordi and I have come to understand, together, that ‘different’ can be a positive factor. That one does not need to remove their inherent and unique _personhood_ to be good, or to be seen as ‘human’ or deserving of humanity. I did not need verification from humans who were unwilling to expand their ideas of humanity, I did not need my emotion chip constantly activated, _nor_ did I need the assurance of my brother who only sought to manipulate my desires for his own gain.”
> 
> Data, returning his line of sight to Hugh, met his stare and raised his brow. “Am I correct in theorizing you understand me, Hugh?”
> 
> Hugh decompiled Data’s words, unpackaged their meanings, their intent- and the former Borg, in all his microcalculations, felt as if he reached a conclusion taught to him by clarity and experience.
> 
> “Yes,” he finally said. “I… believe I do, Commander Data. I _was_ Borg. I… _am_ still Borg- in a way. But yet I am… not the _same_ , as people who were never a part of the Collective,” Hugh followed him with. “I am something else. We _all_ are, my friends and I. We do not… wish to directly _copy_ anyone else, or return to the Collective; this we know. I do not like speaking for the others, but I at least know _that_ for certain. It is confusing,” the former drone admitted, “and it has… taken us many years to accept this conflicting nature.”
> 
> “But you accept it,” Data affirmed him with. “You have become something greater than the Borg, who are uniform in nature, could ever make you into being.”
> 
> “What is that?”
> 
> Data raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “A ‘self-sustaining paradox,’ I suppose is the best way to phrase it.”   
> The android turned back to face the window. “Fascinating.”
> 
> They were both silent.  
> Hugh dwelled on his answer to Data, Data's labeling of him and the others, and it was good.
> 
> "I am glad nothing happened to you or Geordi in the time we were isolated, Data," Hugh offered. "It would pain me to know if either of you had... died," he said quietly, "in these 10 years." 
> 
> Data was quiet and did not move at this, and Hugh wondered if it was the right thing to say right now.   
> It had been hard. Hugh had been surrounded by death and sickness and ailment from his friends' failing cortical nodes and augments, and he wanted someone to understand and know this outside of Ohniaka III.
> 
> "I apologize if that's a strange thing to say," the former Borg said, "or if it is unwanted. But I have seen 97 of my friends die in 31 days alone, and-- I take joy in the fact two friends I have not seen in so long _are_ still alive. ...And that they are happy together."
> 
> Data's eyes flickered downward at Hugh's explanation, and he nodded.
> 
> "I am thankful too, Hugh," Data said quietly, "for yours _and_ Geordi's health. And your comrades." 
> 
> The android paused.
> 
> “It has occurred to me, more than once,” Data said as his eyes were locked with the window, “and I have been in multiple close-enough encounters to see, that... Geordi _will_ die, one day. If fate spares us this kind of death, then I will certainly outlive him.”
> 
> A younger, more frightened version of Hugh panicked at this, pleading to the face of Locu **Picard** that Geordi must not die. 
> 
> He would not die by _his_ or the Collective’s, Hugh knew, and even though the knowledge of Geordi would live on in other individuals, if Geordi died it meant Hugh would no longer hear his voice. See his smile. He would not feel the gentle touch of his hand, hear the sound of his laugh, nor be enveloped by the tightness of his hugs.
> 
> This pained Hugh, but Data was right.
> 
> And Data, somehow, seemed to have accepted this.
> 
> The former Borg nodded. “You are correct.”
> 
> “Correct, but it is a saddening reality. Thankfully, I believe I have deduced this complex dilemma with a simple enough answer. You, myself, everyone who knows Geordi and regards him fondly... should _enjoy_ Geordi for the amount of time we _do_ have with him,” Data said. 
> 
> And Hugh’s heart ached as a grin spread on his face and he leaned further onto his crutch.
> 
> “Yes,” Hugh agreed. “We shou--”
> 
> As Hugh spoke, a turbolift door opened down the hall, and a bright and cheery “Ahhh!” rang through the starship’s corridor. It was Geordi’s voice... and it was excited. Familiar. Comforting. “ _There’s_ my two favorite mechanical men!”
> 
> Hugh turned with Data to face Geordi, and Data gave Geordi a… flat? Bemused? _Un_ amused look? Data’s facial expressions could be very difficult to vocalize. “Geordi,” Data said in a mindful tone, “I am an android; I do not function purely on a ‘mechanical’ level.” 
> 
> “And I am former Borg, Geordi; does your usage of ‘mechanical’ apply to me too, or--”
> 
> Geordi shook his head with a sigh. “I’m not gonna win with _either_ of you, am I,” he chuckled, wedging in between them and nudging Data with his shoulder. “What have you both been up to?”
> 
> “Talking,” Hugh told Geordi with a smile. “Data and I were not able to _speak_ much before you left Ohniaka III 10 years ago. I find that I _enjoy_ talking to him now, and… I’m glad that I actually have _good_ things to discuss with others, as compared to then.”
> 
> Behind Geordi’s look of delight, Data tilted his head towards him. “The sentiment is mutual, Hugh. On both counts.”
> 
> And as Data continued to look down at him and before Geordi could reply, he raised a brow with a quirk of his head, the android’s yellow stare darting between the two men before him.
> 
> “I know that look,” Geordi said with a grin, “what’s got your eye, hun.”
> 
> Data looked down with that same, subtle expression he gave earlier.
> 
> “It is simply amusing to me, Geordi,” the android explained, “how you and Hugh are almost the same height.” 

Inside his regeneration alcove, in 2391, and knowing Geordi at least was still alive and carried the memory and voice and love of Data, Hugh grinned, and his hand gripped his arm brace just a little bit tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to god i thought of hugh being able to play cello back in chapter 6 i did NOT get it from adira and gray but i thank them for the solidarity. gay people have one (collective) brain cell || also thank you again @mycorob for the amazing art at the end, check out the post here!!! https://twitter.com/raijuTheHyeju/status/1355262785186193409


	23. apparitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're heading into the beginning of Month Five for the Atlas Project: eight weeks left, and there's still mysteries to be found- and unlocked, in one way or another. 
> 
> We have another hologram hangout, the Reclamation Project gets a new recruit, the Director takes a deepdive, and someone has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI SORRY THIS TOOK ME ALMOST THREE WEEKS THANKS TO PLOT BULLSHIT and wanting to make sure everything made sense and was coherent since i write very piece-by-piece/hopping around. moves my xB OCs around || anyway no spoilies but: have fun :) next chapter's gonna be a little different and this one has stuff i've been waiting to get to for literal months/since the start of this book so ENJOY !!!! || yes i like deanna/worf/riker. moves them around too || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - DECEMBER 31, 2391]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS**

** {UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS XENOANTHROPOLOGY DATABASE 2391, UPDATED V 13.2.1.78}  
** **  
  
>SELECTION FROM BOOKMARKS: LIBERATED BORG 'COOPERATION'  
> SORTED BY: NEWEST ADDED, FED. STANDARD ALPHABETICAL ORDER   
>NEWS ENTRY STARDATE: INTERNAL STARFLEET POLITICAL RELATIONS UPDATE DEBRIEF FOR AUTHORIZED OFFICERS, 68963.31  
  
 _"The 2391 Atlas Project Midway Gala, Observations: A Starfleet Officer's Recounting Regarding the 'Reclaimed' of Ohniaka III_ ,"  
Written by Lieutenant Doctor Louis H.O. Krem, Edited by Starfleet Xenoanthropology Division of Starbase 172**

> _"_ _I’m certain the readers are no doubt wondering what the furnishings were like, first and foremost. When one looks upon the titanic, cubical vessels of the Borg, the last thing Starfleet officers imagine are sweeping, windowed views of the cosmos outside- to say nothing for possible sounds of laughter, music, and the wow’s of tech demonstrations around them._ _I_ _was impressed at the natural golden glow that seemed to radiate off the sharp, geometric archways the 'Grand Observation Chamber' had; for it was quite unlike the dreary, eerily green-lit halls I've read about regarding Borg spacecraft, though its architectural bones may have certainly been inspired from common roots."_
> 
> _This is to say nothing about the warmth of our hosts for the evening; a certain Captain and 'Executive Director' of this Reclamation Project- both boisterous in their own ways, and enrapturing an assembly of two thousand plus."_

Geordi chuckled, leaning back and waving a pointed finger in his chair as a wine glass left his lips. “Wait wait hold on, hold on, I gotta get comfy; this is one of my favorite parts.”

The shining, holographic hand of Captain William Riker wiggled a PADD in his hand and gave Geordi a smirk. _“You wanna read it then, La Forge?”_

 _“_ No no- keep going Will, keep going; you make a wonderful narrator.”

 _“Aww- what can I say;_ _it’s the second glass of wine.”_

 _“Not necessarily, Captain,”_ Worf said with a low rumble. _“I agree with Geordi. Your speaking voice has always been… mnn… pleasant.”_

Will, surprised for half a second, winked with a faux kiss in the Klingon’s direction as a rosy-cheeked Deanna snuggled in closer to his projection.

Worf frowned, but sipped his Warnog.

In the meantime, Beverly’s communications hologram reached for her own wine refill, the crackling of a holographic "fireplace" between them on Geordi's quarters table a wonderful setpiece. _“Well,_ someone’s _gonna have to keep reading; I told my XO that I’d join the_ Pasteur's _Mess Hall countdown before it hit zero.”_

“Mine too,” Geordi piped, “though Vulcan’s New Year isn’t until… what is it this year for us Earthlings- June?” 

Riker tsk'ed, raising his wine glass with a faux shake of the head. _“Oh, see_ I _thought you were talking about your_ other _first officer. ...Or he’s not really your XO, huh- he’s his own indivi--”_

And before Geordi could interject with a rapidly flushing face and a “shush!” as he slunk down further into his seat, the bell to his quarters chimed, his hand ready to grab a sobering hypospray at a moment’s notice.

_“If it's Hugh, I’m gonna laugh--”_

“Computer--” Geordi called to cut Will off, “who is it?”

_“ <Executive Director Hugh.>”_

Geordi, for all his bluster and attempted machismo, couldn’t help it when a grin squirmed on his face and his brow knit upward.

 _“Come on, Geordi,”_ Beverly cooed as Riker did indeed laugh, _“we won’t bite. In fact? You know what? Bring him on in, if he wants.”_

Geordi looked up at both the offer and the sincerity in her voice. “You guys would be okay with that?” he asked. “I… know we didn’t get a _whole_ lotta time to talk at the Gala, but--” 

_“We’re learning more about him, Geordi,”_ Riker said gently. _“What kinda Starfleet officers-- hell, what kinda_ friends _would we be if we didn’t give him a chance to get more comfortable around us?”_

Geordi’s eyes flicked around the circle, his free hand mashed against his lips.

 _“It’s fine,”_ Troi hummed, _“promise.”_

Geordi looked to Worf who, though the Klingon had crossed arms and a furrowed brow, nodded once at him.

Four out of four, then.

Geordi eyed Will and Deanna snuggling again- Troi in particular giving him a challenging smirk as her hand slid over Riker's chest.

> _Why the hell not._

Holding up a finger to shush them and telling the computer to pause his hologram’s recording, Geordi fumbled out of his seat, meandering to the door with a half-full glass of wine and beckoned his quarters door to open and reveal Hugh. Since Starfleet and Reclamation Project shifts were ended site-wide at 2000 hours, the xB was dressed comfortably in a turtleneck and his off-duty badge, Hugh tilting his head sweetly in Geordi’s direction with freshly swept-back hair. At hearing a simulated snap of a holographic fireplace's sap, Hugh’s eyes looked past Geordi in the doorway and counted the figures behind him with a glance, and the xB’s smile turned into a smirk.

“Good evening, Captain.” 

Geordi was leaning on the doorway, trying to reign in his earlier nerves. “Evening, Director.”

“Can they see me?”   
“Not from here, nah; I cut the feed, too.”  
“Ah, good; I don’t want to disturb your time with your friends-”  
“Well _actually,_ I--”

 _“Hugh!”_ Riker called, _“I can’t see ya yet but come on in; we’re just getting to the good part!”_

Deanna chuckled against him: _“Shush, Will, don’t bully him into it--”_

Hugh squinted with a curious face, Geordi sighing as his boyfriend’s eyes darted back and forth between the Captain and the hologram over his shoulder.

“Now that’s not fair," Geordi sighed, "how did he get to ask you first..."

“I’m just curious as to what it is you’re even _doing.”_

“A _table reading_ of the Gala writeup,” Geordi teased, “apparently everyone else _saved it_ for our meetup tonight. You… wanna join us? Everyone said it’d be okay.”

Hugh looked surprised at the invitation, those mismatched eyes of his widening with intrigue. “I, ah… are you sure?" he asked, "they’re your _friends_ , Geordi- I wouldn’t want to--”

“They are,” Geordi told him, setting a hand on the xB’s shoulder, “and you’re my _partner._ At the risk of sounding like _you,_ I don’t wanna speak for them, but... I think my friends wanna get to know the guy who’s dating _their_ friend a little better. Besides,” he ended with a smirk, “Deanna and Will keep snuggling in on one another and it’s kinda makin’ me miss you. _Aaand_ I gotta put a dent in this bottle of wine I opened, so.”

Hugh’s cheeks and ears were well red by this point, but his smile turned damn near playful towards the end of Geordi’s spiel. Glancing back and forth between the holograms and Geordi, the xB stepped inside so the doors could slide shut, and Hugh stole a kiss from Geordi in a surprise bout of spontaneity. 

“Will you finish before midnight?” Hugh asked. 

“Told Five and Two I’d meet them with everyone for Armstrong’s countdown.”

Hugh smiled. “Sounds wonderful, dear.”

The xB held that smile.  
Geordi squinted, “hearing” a bit of mental static, flare, and _allure_ from Hugh’s direction.

So Geordi nodded, rolling his tongue against his cheek. “Aaand you’re wondering about _after,_ aren’t you.” 

“I might be,” Hugh admitted, “I _am_ familiar with the more popular Federation human holiday customs...” 

“So you _are._ Well, don’t you worry;” Geordi promised with a husky voice, “I’ve got a whole night of fun ready for us.” 

_“Come on La Forge; where’d ya go!?”_

“Comiiiing!” he called, taking a peck from Hugh before papping his cheek, “computer: resume holographic pickup feed #1, and begin pickup feed #2 on Director Hugh. Oh, and ah- replicate a wine glass.”

_“ <Confirmed.>”_

As Hugh’s hologram would flicker into existence for the gathered officers, Geordi watched him out of the corner of his eye while the Captain meandered to the replicator, all his friends’ attention on a slowly approaching Hugh. “Be nice to him, everyone,” La Forge called, “it may have been a short shift for us, but don’t think that him and I weren’t actually _working_ today.”

 _“Oh, like I could ever be the opposite,”_ Beverly remarked with a wave of her hand. With a smile, Beverly raised her glass to his boyfriend: _“good evening, Hugh. Happy New Year.”_

“Good evening, Beverly,” Hugh murmured. From the sound of it, Hugh had one of those sheepish little smiles on, Geordi grinning to himself as he prepared Hugh’s wine. “Captain Riker, Commander Troi, Captain Worf- Happy soon-to-be New Year.”

 _“Happy New Year to you too, Director Hugh,”_ Will offered. _“The Atlas Project celebrating well enough?”_

“By both Starfleet _and_ Reclamation Project staff standards, yes,” Hugh explained as he took a seat. “Out of the 299 other xB personnel present, 48 of them actively observe the Earthen New Year in some way. The remaining Project staffers, though they may not necessarily _require_ the rest period,” he spoke, taking the wine glass Geordi offered him as he returned to the circle, “are free to take it.” 

And as Geordi took a rather cozy seat beside the xB, he offered Hugh a toast, the Captain grinning ear to ear as their glasses chimed together. 

“Individuality-offered enrichment over Collective-mandated efficiency, of course.”

Riker and Troi looked impressed as Beverly got more comfortable, and Worf held his Warnog mug closer to his chest.

 _“Wouldn’t expect anything less than good workplace management from you two. Now, now:”_ Beverly recollected, _“where were we?”_

“My _favorite_ part,” Geordi reminded, “and I think we all universally agreed Will makes the best reader of the circle; you alright with that, Mr. Hugh?”

Hugh, meanwhile, was smacking and squinting from the wine’s strength. “Mmn. Acchh. Yes yes, I agree, sorry-- I imagine the Captain would, yes.”

“This wine's gonna do you in one day, I swear--” 

Riker smirked. “Chateau _Picard's Bordeaux blend strong for you, Mr. Hugh?”_

"Oh, it's-- mn. It's _good,_ I enjoy it and my sense of taste eventually adapts to the tannins," Hugh laughed quietly, "but every time I go without it for a couple days, my ah... _adaption_ wears off." 

_"So Geordi doesn't have to worry about you becoming a wino on him- got it."_

Hugh's head tilted. "'Wino?'"

And Geordi bundled Hugh against him by resting an arm behind the xB's neck as Geordi's cheeks lit up. "Oh, don't you go poisoning his individual mind, Will. Now come on; tell us _all about_ how stunning Mr. La Forge and Hugh's speeches were."

"You're at _this_ part?" Hugh exclaimed, then slunk back into the couch with a rapidly flushing face, "Oh, no..."

 _"Continue,"_ Worf rumbled, _"before I finish my Warnog, please."_

 _"Fine, finefinifinfifneifine,"_ Riker coughed with a dramatic rattle of his chest, _"Lemme re-find my place, will ya... alright- here we are."_

And Riker sat back in his chair, cleaning his throat as the photonic fireplace crackled before them. 

_"...This is to say nothing about the warmth of our hosts for the evening; a certain Captain and 'Executive Director' of this Reclamation Project- both boisterous in their own ways, and enrapturing to an assembly of two thousand plus._ _"_

He continued right along.

> _"Although there were viewscreens made of light so that all attendees may equally watch our hosts and their signers, I found myself crammed between familiar tri-color dress tunics and black robes inlaid with gold and silver as I verbally pleaded my press badge's case for a front-balcony view."_
> 
> _"I_ _managed to catch the beginning of Captain Geordi La Forge's introduction as I looked down to their raised platform, and it struck me how much conviction the famed engineer held in his voice not for the work of Starfleet, not for the support the Federation was uplifting these former Borg- but the mere existence of the Reclamation Project. While he spoke with an authority and experience in his eyes and voice for the man that stood waiting to give his own speech, I am well aware Captain La Forge's decision to forgo grandiose praise of the Federation rubbed certain officers the wrong way- officers who typically expect the Federation receives due praise back for every amenity given._
> 
> _And this lack of focus on the Federation is alright; f_ _or Starfleet was not the primary host of this glittering evening. It was the former Borg, the xBs, the Reclamation Project who opened their Command Juggernaut's gargantuan doors to us, as their guests; to Starfleet officers who may have once looked at them in disdain, fear, or pity (or still do, to my annoyance and regret)- and instead offer us a glimpse at life beyond the Collective. That life beyond existence as 'poor unfortunate souls' was possible, and there was innovation, creation, happiness, pride to be found in both the tech demo hosts' faces and heard in the conviction of Executive Director's voice as he gave his opening speech."_

Will allowed a beat of silence.  
Geordi could almost _feel_ the heat of blush wafting off Hugh's cheeks.

> _"Captain La Forge's words reinforced the fact that resistance is to be respected and given a space next to equity. Executive Director Hugh's creed reminded the audience that xBs and the residents of Ohniaka III are not some temporary flare of an anomaly, nor a people to be discounted or loathed as their 'Oppressor.' I find myself, post-Gala, not only embittered against, but also rivaling any soul that does not respect the existence, vibrancy, and miracle of people who are formerly Borg."_

Riker stopped again, resettling jaw with a reflective smile as he looked around to the gathered.

And though Geordi and Hugh had gushed over this writeup together plenty of times already, Geordi couldn't help it when he felt his cheeks dimple as a chuckle rumbled his chest with a fresh sip of wine. "Damn _right_ I give a good speech." 

_"Rich coming from the guy who clammed up whenever someone sat down with him at Ten Forward besides Data or Guinan."_

"You-- hush, Jesus Christ Will, God," Geordi laughed, "you gonna pick on Worf yet?"   
Worf laughed one of his rare, deep guffaws that was laced with more challenge than humor. _"I would like to see him_ attempt _it."_

After their laughter died down, Will wiggled his PADD again as Deanna refilled both their glasses. _"Keep going?"_

"Oh- _please,_ my good Captain," Geordi hummed, placing another kiss to the back of the xB's head before settling in once more. "Please do."

By the end of the table reading and the group began communal parting words, Geordi and Hugh found themselves nestled against each other in Geordi's plush quarters couch- Geordi having made way through two glasses, and Hugh needing two more sips to finish off his first. The Captain's head rested near Hugh's sternum anchor and Hugh's augmented hand brushed at Geordi's cropped hair, Beverly and Worf sharing silent glances as if to commiserate having to deal with these four having a practical snuggle standoff. In between breaks of the writeup reading, they all shared stories from their ships, stations, or sphere- Will not only making a wonderful reader of a Gala writeup, but also an enrapturing storyteller about how the _Titan_ recently encountered _another_ group of scavenging Pakleds. Most of the Atlas Project's inner workings were classified to anyone not formally involved with restocks or intentional rendezvous; although Hugh and Geordi couldn't share _too_ much in their neck of the galactic woods, they both had their own stories to tell. For instance: how Hugh finally learned what the term "bumfuck nowhere" meant, how a tardigrade a week ago zapped out of existence before their very eyes after two hours of extremely-gross-to-watch egglaying in a special incubation chamber built to house a massive clutch for 10 years... and how they both had begun to learn each others little ticks and habits from over the months, trading kisses and cuddles every handful of stories.

One of Geordi's greatest, unspoken joys during the evening was that if someone mentioned Data, or he happened to appear in someone's story, those quiet looks the others would give him weren't so nervous anymore. Not so melancholy, nor so apprehensive as to how Geordi would react. They were, instead, eyes holding wistful celebration and smiles baked with communal love for their departed friend- Geordi this time responding with grins tinged with nostalgia, and homage paid in beloved remembrance. 

Geordi knew Data would prefer that far more to the _former_ , anyway.

As Geordi yawned while everyone said their goodbyes to the Earth-set chronometer of 2325 hours, he only heard three transmission holograms flicker off.   
And the Captain cracked a cybernetic eye open to see Beverly sitting there with fully-formed dimples, watching the xB and the Captain curled in on each other.

Geordi's mushed cheeks muffled his voice. "I _see_ you, Bev..."   
_"Oh don't mind me, Captain,"_ Beverly teased, _"you and the Director just look very cozy there."_  
"You're correct in that, Beverly," Hugh hummed, "I cannot speak for Geordi, bu--"   
"Nooonono; right now you _can,_ because I _am,"_ Geordi said, and he pressed one, two, three pecks against a chuckling, rosy-cheeked Hugh as he scooted upright to sit. "I am _very_ cozy here, thank you very much. I nod off faster nowadays, leave me alone; I'm older."  
 _"Aren't we all, Geordi."_

Geordi watched his old friend firm her lips in a smirk that tried to be playful, but Beverly's creased brow betrayed her warm-as-ever heart.

 _"I'm glad you two could have a nice night off,"_ she said softly. _"From what I read of your itinerary logs and schedule proposals, you're going to be, ah... busy, these next couple months."_

Geordi brushed his beard with a thumb, nodding as his eyes drooped at the reminder of the event. "Yeah..." the Captain sighed. "I'd say 'don't remind us,' but one of the last things we did today was confirm Hugh's linkup for the 2nd, so..." 

_"Oh n-- shit, you set the date already? Oh god, I'm so sorry I brought it up... thank the wine,"_ Beverly said woefully, _"it's made me a bit more sentimental."_

Hugh offered her a wistful look. "It's nice to know you care, Beverly," he assured, "that you've been thinking of us and checking into our progress."

_"It's the least I could do, Hugh."_

Geordi saw her jaw twitch, and experience with his old CMO told him she nearly said something like "please be safe."   
But instead, Beverly regarded the men fondly with all the love of the world in her holographic eyes.

 _"You'll be alright,"_ she tried to assure them. _"You've all done this well so far; I could hardly imagine anything being so detrimental that it'd screw it all up now."_

"We've been burning the midnight oil almost two weeks straight making sure something _doesn't_ screw up," Geordi sighed. "It's... been a little tiring. But thanks, Bev. xBs and Starfleet seem to 'get shit done,' it turns out."

 _"I send my love, gentlemen,"_ Beverly said sweetly. _"I say this from experience with how many times_ you _were in Sickbay, Geordi; something tells me you're going to need it. And, to end it on something a little less cautionary..."_

She raised their glass to them with a smile. _"Happy New Year, dears. Make it a good one."_

Hugh smiled. "You too, Beverly. Happy New Year, my friend."   
Geordi kissed the air as he waved a "byeee," and Crusher's hologram flickered out of sight.

The Captain was very happy Hugh did not immediately get up, happy to instead dwell in the silence and the shared white noise of _Solstice_ and the "fire" before them.

"You have good friends, Geordi."   
"Ehhh- they're alright."   
"I recognize that to be sarcasm."   
"Partly. ...Mostly."

They shared a quiet laugh, Hugh's breath smelling vaguely of the Bordeaux blend.

"What time's your chronometer say, Hugh?"  
"2331 hours."  
"Mmn. Probably should get going at 20 'till, huh." 

Geordi smiled at the feeling of Hugh's lips pressing against his temple for a kiss. "Yes we should, Captain." 

Another silence lingered, Geordi's earring squished against the xB in an annoying, yet frivolously-treasured pain. 

"I know Beverly apologized to us, Geordi," Hugh finally spoke again, "but truthfully, I must admit... I'm glad she mentioned it." 

Geordi, puzzled, turned his head to the Director. "And why's that?" 

Hugh swallowed. "It will make me treasure tonight even more," he admitted, "as a very special night I was able to share with you, your friends, and... _my_ friends, I suppose I can say now to some degree. This is a good night in contrast to... well, in case if something... y-you're aware. I don't-- I won't speak of it again this evening, but--" 

Geordi's open palm felt Hugh's heart begin to beat a little faster under his diamond-like sternum anchor.  
Hugh finished off the last of his wine glass in a single, silent sling.

So, lazily pulling his hand up Hugh's chest, past the collar of his turtleneck, and onto his spider web cheek, Geordi mushed a kiss into the xB's scarred, implant-dashed cheek.

"I love youuu," Geordi cooed carefully. "Think about _that_ tonight instead, why don't ya." 

And Hugh, ever the easily-tipsy, individuality-celebrating sap he was, tried to hide a squirming smile under his hand and failed miserably, looking away as his eyes went bleary and he shook his head, murmuring an "Every time" under his breath.

> `[ E v er y t ime a l wa y s ]`

"Now come on," Geordi said, "let's grab some breath mints and bring down two bottles for Armstrong's." 

Hugh chuckled in response: "Two, huh," he crooned, setting his empty glass aside. "You're so generous, Captain."

"With how slow we're going through the six we started with? Oh, Hugh- we're gonna need all the help we can _get_ from happy-to-be-tipsy staffers... and I certainly don't mind sharing."

"Individuality's needs, community's many?"

"Exactly."

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - JANUARY 1, 2392]**   
**VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER 0013, L.B.V. 'COMMAND JUGGERNAUT'  
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR'S QUARTERS**

The number of "Happy New Year's" Hugh received the next day from Starfleet staffers and human xBs surprised the Executive Director, certainly.  
But considering what was happening tomorrow, he dare not reject their well wishes. 

After a night of tangential celebration for the Atlas Project's crew, the hopefulness this date seemed to impart did its best to encourage Hugh, though the impending finality of his future interface couldn't leave his thoughts. Hugh had a long day of work in Atlas' converted queencell regarding final diagnostics for this molecular reconstruction "scavenging" program he'd guide- a long enough day that a sonic shower was warranted to unknot his tired muscles, relaxing mentally and physically by regarding Geordi's beautiful VISOR again at his desk and sipping on decaffeinated Puerh. For as tiring as this day was, tomorrow would be the culmination of two weeks worth of preparation, alongside the Reclamation Project's usual demands. Hugh could finally go back to focusing to assisting with procedures, pulling dormant bodies from Atlas' spherical ribs, counseling the minds that grew in strength and clarity every day... For during these tasks, each time the xB remembered he'd have to imbue himself within the infinite-feeling circuitry of the sphere's hull, a horrid dread surged through his skin and tested the merits of his ligaments. 

He worried terribly for Hyades. Her bright, brown-and-blue eyes rivalled the fear they all might see her again with that strange, milky white gaze- her arms shunted into a once fungi-riddled alcove as she would hold position for Hugh to route the reconstituted program by. Hyades' confidence and insistence to tend to the study of Atlas' strange mycology was, at least, a very healthy and very welcome balm.

Besides: a certain hologram and Director Second fretted over her enough already.

How frustrating his anxieties wouldn't even acknowledge the incredible work put in by Reclamation Project and Starfleet staff, Hugh thought. With no small thanks to Junctions Five and V'evik, all sorts of assistance-related subroutines and stability protocols had been built alongside the molecular reconstruction program that Five had made with Id, V'evik's cybernetic toolings able to create a quasi-"firewall" between what would be Hugh's uplinked mind as he mentally roved through literal thousands of chambers rebuilding this programming. Crosis had been coaching him in mental grounding techniques, Atlas had been running him through visualization exercises- Geordi and Vorik had been helpful in their wisdom on how displacement travel-related technology might effect a cybernetic matrix...even yesterday, Troval had been there in Chamber 5873 for the final physical exam as EMH took the day as Reclamation Procedure lead, Id examining one of the specialized interface cables with Five petering away on a power conduit in the sphere's central command.

> _"You're certainly an_ older _model, Director," Id had sneered, a segmented, prosthetic hand tinkering with sparking, hairline nodes to the end of the cybernetic tendril. "I_ balk _at the idea that we once considered your form of drone 'perfect' by any means."_
> 
> _Before Hugh could protest, he caught Five smirking and rolling her jaw, no doubt well-adapted to Ids wonderful personality after two weeks of directing her. "So by_ that _implication then, Id," the Junction mused, "that must make you practically obsolete to xBs such as V'evik and I. You're only six years past the Director's model, correct?" Five hummed, "I wonder how the Collective in 2374 would regard drones of 2383 and 86's technology..."_
> 
> _Id frowned and rolled her eyes. "Mmn. I see 'sarcasm' was also implemented into drone subroutine protocol after our severance."_
> 
> _"Hardly," Five told her, "that is entirely my own volition."_
> 
> _Hugh watched Five come back towards his station to review her Director's notes, the xB smirking at the screen as his hand pulled at various windows. "Clever," Hugh offered her,_ _"and poignant. Though I do feel a bit old now."_
> 
> _"You are hardly 'old' in the derogatory inflection, Director," she assured him. "Junction V'evik and I were actually musing on various terminology the other day regarding Progenitors with some of our Division Relays."_
> 
> _"Your allusion has made me curious, Junction. What is something you call the likes of Crosis and Troval and I?"_
> 
> _Five grinned at him. "There were many words exchanged, Director. I think my favorite was 'vintage.''_

Hugh knew by now that anxiety needed no real reason to fester. It simply existed, anxiety was a part of him- and it was a cruel, ever-present reminder that, for as beautiful as individuality was, life as either as a drone or a single mind was in no ways perfect.

Hugh's augmented hand rubbed at his temples, setting Geordi's VISOR down on the desk with a quiet little clink.

He should be regenerating already.

A chirp from Hugh's off-duty combadge broke the evening stillness. _"Director Second Crosis with Project Supervisor Atlas to Executive Director Hugh."_

"I'm here; go ahead."

 _"Ah, good, you're still conscious; you weren't going begin a regeneration cycle soon, were you?"_

"Within the hour, but not immediately; why do you ask?" 

_"Hyades has requested a meeting with you, Sir,"_ Atlas now spoke. _"She has questions she feels only you are able to answer regarding the Reclamation Project's work."_

Queries? From Hyades? All xBs had questions about the very organization that helped foster their new identities, certainly- but _him?_

Pulling his mind away from his processors' thousands of prospective calculations, Hugh continued right along, though curiosity flit through his mind. "Of course," he affirmed. "Please, feel free to send or escort her here. I'm willing to speak as long as she is to listen and vice versa." 

_"Thank you, Hugh; we shall be there in 3 minutes, nine seconds."_

"What do you think Hyades wants, Captain La Forge?" Hugh asked the VISOR absently. "She should be regenerating by now, shouldn't see? Perhaps that hiking holodeck of the Ohniakan coast was more engaging than we thought..."

He smiled at the VISOR.  
And though it no longer rested on Geordi's face and attached itself to his temples, he decided to kiss it- sweetly, and with gentle intent of homage.

> _"Don't actually kiss my eyeball, please."_

Hugh adored how clarity and spontaneity could make one so silly.

Two minutes, 51 seconds later, Geordi's VISOR replica was stored and the bell to Hugh's quarters door rang, and he rose to greet all Atlas, Crosis, and Hyades at the door- all dressed in off-duty clothes, and the men behind her exuding a residual peace he had no name for. 

"Good evening, everyone," Hugh greeted. "Two what do I owe your three's visit... and Hyades' question, apparently?" 

"Ohh, not _us,_ Director," Crosis told him with a smirk, setting his augmented hand on the xB's shoulder. _"This_ one here is _very_ determined to keep us from not knowing whatever it is she wants to ask you."

"Crosis and I will be retiring," Atlas agreed. "Hyades; have a good evening with Director Hugh." 

"I will Atlas; thank you," she told him. "You too, Crosis; the Sector 56 basalt cliffs of Ohniaka III are far more favorable to observe in person rather than from the view of a shuttlecraft. I believe I'm beginning to understand the logic behind... 'hiking.'"

How clever his friends were, distracting her from tomorrow's events with a nature hike. "And soon you will see them in person. Atlas, was that your first time...?" 

"My second, actually," the photonic remarked. "Director Second Crosis makes for quite the engaging hike leader." 

Hugh looked flatly, even bemusedly, to his friend.   
Crosis' mustache wriggled and his face lit up bright red.

"Well. We have an 'engaging' day tomorrow, don't we," Hugh mused, standing aside for Hyades to enter. "Have a good rest of your evening, my friends."

"And to you, Director."   
"Rest well, Hugh." 

And Hugh couldn't help himself as he peeked his head out the door before it shut behind Hyades, watching Crosis go with Atlas at his side to his quarters.   
Atlas had a hand on Crosis' shoulder.

"What are you drinking, Director?" 

With a calm grin, Hugh turned his attention back to Hyades, the doors sealing shut as he watched the Wysanti xB approach his desk. "Puerh tea, actually," he mused. "Do you know of this drink?" 

"No, though my-- olfactory processors sense it is... uh... what is? I am-- how would that-- convert into taste, it--" 

She motioned her hand with a scrunched brow, rubbing a cracked hand over her face as she considered the mug. Hugh, recognizing she may have had a very sensory-stimulating day, proceeded to his quarters' replicator to make Hyades a freshly-made cup, and offered her some tea. 

Her eyes, like stars, took the cup gingerly as Hugh picked up his own for a little raise of cups. 

"Thank you, Sir."  
"You're welcome. I made sure it was compatible with Wysanti biology." 

She sipped with Hugh.   
And she made a face that many who had Puerh tea for the first time made.

"I--oh. Ooo, mmpth. That is--"   
"You may vocalize as much as you like."   
"It's... somehow, it-- reminds me of... soil? Humidity? Dirt. Mnn, it is... strange." 

She puzzled at the cup... but sipped again, nodding at something. 

"It reminds me of Chamber 5873. I prefer it in this regard."   
"Considering it is a tea buried and then fermented _in_ soil, I am not surprised."   
"That... makes sense now," she followed. "I have discovered there are many ways to make tea."   
"And just as many teas for you to try, now that you are you."

She smiled. "You are correct." 

Hugh, taking her empty sampling up, strode back to the replicator to dispose their empty wares. "So, Hyades," Hugh asked, "you're withholding your question for me from Crosis and Atlas? I'm admittedly curious, and am more than interested at what it could be. Please, tell me," he assured her as he returned to where she now sat in his quarters, "what is it?"

She wrapped her lips in, fiddled with her thin hands... and looked back up to him with a renewed confidence.

"Director," she spoke, "I would... like to join the Reclamation Project. Or-- help for it. _With_ it, when I am farther along in my Reclamation Program."

And Hugh found himself beaming in a smile that shone against his tired, bagged eyes of dread for tomorrow. 

"That's... that's wonderful, Hyades!" Hugh told her, "we'd be delighted to have you; the Reclamation Project would only be strengthened by your presence."

Her face spread into a hopeful smile. "You think so?" 

"I _know_ so. I have known you as your every-growing self over four months now, and from what I see of you even now, I... look forward to working with you, in the future. Make no rush of it; you and your Reclamation Program come first and foremost, but-- do you know which Division you want to join yet?" Hugh asked brightly.

"I, ah... that is-- what I wanted your voice on," Hyades admitted, "your voice's opinion. I do not... _know_ yet. I know I am able to choose things like this, but I do not know which to choose. Atlas and Crosis, they have informed me this is to be expected, that this is permissible," she stressed, "but... I ask that your voice tell me: how-- do I know I _want_ something... yet not know the specificity of it? This is-- not efficient, going into something and not knowing _how_ to do something, but--"

Watching her brow crease, Hyades' eyes darted between his face and hands, her thin palms opening and closing in her contemplation...

And Hugh took her hands- gently, kindly, instantly, and Hyades nodded as his thumbs rubbed circles into the divots between her thumb and pointer. 

"Speak. As much as you like." 

Hyades took a deep breath in. 

"It is difficult. I've been taught and have _seen_ in my singularity, that... decisions are difficult. And it can be even _more_ difficult when differentiating between... _advice,"_ she explained, "and _instruction._ But Director, I... I have a kinship with Atlas. With those pulled from it. I-- that drone struck me and it was frightening because it _changed me_ , but I-- had a kinship with Ursa, then! I watched her and observed her and supervised her when she laid her clutch and when she left, and--"

"Your voice is not many, Hyades," Hugh reminded her. "You are one- _we_ are separate. Slowly."

She nodded again, remembering the Consultation division's teachings. "I want to join the Reclamation Project. But... I do not know where, because I feel very... _drawn_ to here. This judgment of action, by judgment of 'feeling,' it is hard at times, but... am I making myself clear? Is this how to communicate feeling?"

Hugh understood. Though he was not her, he _was_ her, once, in some form or another.

And though they were different, the Collective all bound them and united them in all love, healing, and understanding.

So he squeezed Hyades' thin hands a little tighter. "I do not know _why_ that drone altered you how it did, Hyades," Hugh told her, "and I do not know what brought this sphere here. But I swear: for you, for Atlas, for _all_ the xBs that share this place of Reprisal... the Reclamation Project will do our best to solve _why_ it did so that we may continue to Reclaim them. Just as we have you. And whatever you feel to be an appropriate place for you within the Project, well... we shall see. Experience comes with time. But I tell you that Atlas, Crosis, and I will help you feel comfortable in this. ...Alright?"

At this, Hyades seemed to finally be satisfied with his answer and nodded, her thin and slender hands finally squeezing his back. 

Hugh spoke again. "You are already very brave and gracious for helping us as you do now with this mystery."

Hyades' blue-and-brown eyes looked up to him at that, scanning for whatever truth she so dearly wanted to find. "Is it... unexpecte-- _odd,_ Director," she asked, "is it odd, that... based on our findings and what we have found so far... I am _nervous_ for what the solution to how Atlas arrived here may be?" 

And Hugh could not offer her comfort in this query; for it burdened his heart and his mind as well, and the xB dedicated to all his facts and honesty made for a terrible liar.

"No. It's not, as odd as _that_ answer may be," Hugh relinquished. "But if we do not seek out the answers, then they could reveal themselves in ways much worse than our nervousness could predict or hinder us in. Does that makes sense?" 

After a moment of thought to herself, she nodded. "Yes," Hyades affirmed. "I have learned that answering questions and seeking answers for myself is favorable. Crosis has taught me this in our Consultation sessions. It was better when I learned of a status change to Ursa by approaching her directly and observing her behavior, rather than assimilation. Because if I did not, she would not have agency anymore. Not like I do. I could not assimilate her, and I did not _want_ to. And because of that, her clutch is safely stored in the incubator we built. _We,_ as in-- you, I, Atlas, and everyone-- not me. So yes, it's... _good_ to find answers."

"It is. And I'm glad you're here and are willing to help us find those answers about Atlas, too." 

She had grown so much from the weeping, broken-legged drone who'd begged him to tell her his designation four months ago.   
The words, even today, echoed an eerie similarity from some of his fallen kin of Cube 5219's descent 23 years ago.

As he held her hands, Hugh's mismatched eyes lingered on the deep, indent-like implants on her forearms.

> _[Home]_

He missed it dearly, and Hugh dearly hoped Hyades would be able to see it again unmarred by tomorrow.

Hugh's squeezed her hands again before letting go. "Well," he sighed, "we have an eventful day coming up, and we ought to enter our regeneration cycles to prepare accordingly... Is there anything else I may answer or do for you, Hyades?" 

"No, Sir," she assured him, "thank you; my query was successfully answered. I'll regenerate and see you tomorrow morning." 

"As I will see you, too."

As she spoke and Hugh led her to his quarters' doorway, a thought struck him as the doors slid open. "Ah, Hyades; one more question before you go," Hugh asked, the xB stopping and turning to face him. "You desire to join the Project... why did you not tell Crosis or Atlas?" 

She smiled at him; a very Crosis-like, squirming thing of a smile that even resembled a grin. 

"Because I did not have an answer for them that I was satisfied with. But now I do, and I very much want to tell them."

Hyades nodded one more time, smiled, and slipped out the door that shut behind her.

And it was then, that Hugh decided, with all his might, that she and the other 973 drones _would_ see Ohniaka III's beautiful seaside cliffs for themselves.

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - JANUARY 2, 2392]  
VESSEL SERIAL NUMBER S-4381, DESIGNATION _L.B.V. 'ATLAS'  
_ CONVERTED QUEENCELL COMMAND CENTRE**

He woke up at the usual time at crack-of-dawn 0600 hours, but Captain Geordi La Forge was finding it damned difficult to get out of bed today.

A selfish imagination tugged at Geordi's thoughts of just calling in sick today. Maybe he could fake a runny nose or claim a replicator gave him food poisoning, hogging Hugh all to himself for one more day cycle before the Director's inevitable hour of uplink. Hell, it'd even give _Hyades_ a chance to go in more ready! Crosis and Atlas would be thankful for that, right?

It was a selfish urge, sure. Selfish, impractical, irresponsible, and just plain silly.   
But widows could be an awfully selfish ilk, sometimes.

At 1000 hours, everyone was in position and the sphere put into yellow alert, all Geordi, Troval, Crosis, Atlas, Id, and Vorik in the photonic's converted queencell ops. Hugh was there too, but the Director's concentration was somewhere far different; as he sat cross-legged on the floor and a cushion where he'd uplinked to the sphere four months ago, he was shirtless- Hugh's spinal augments gleaming and awaiting the cables. Atlas stood behind and above Hugh as his arm began to slowly motion a bundle of connection cables down from the ceiling, the photonic quiet and thoughtful while "escorting" what looked like slow-moving snakes. Geordi noticed Hugh swallow and his hands ball tighter into fists against his thighs, the Captain counting nine cables in Atlas’ telekinetic-like ushering down towards him. It was, with a wince, that Geordi listened to one cable, two cables- eventually seven plunged and clicked their way into Hugh’s spinal augment before the official connection was turned on, the last three cables finding his cheek's spiderweb and two large ports in both biceps. To Hugh's sides, Troval was monitoring him with their tricorder as Id physically tested the merit of Atlas’ cables once all nine were connected, Hugh jostling under the former Queen’s tugs and careful observations.

If the soon-to-be situation wasn't so dire, Hugh's frown would almost be funny.

"Not too hard of 'test pulls,' please."  
"Hush; you've barely used these old ports," Id grunted with a four-armed test. "do you want one's surface area falling out by accident or _not?"_  
"No, but it's a... strange sensation, so I ask yo-- AAagGhh, not my face, ow!"  
Geordi barked a "Hey!" as Troval, thankfully, smacked one of Id's hands away with their PADD and a scowl, the queen laughing in her silky smooth voice. "Oh, dear; _forgive_ me Director," she cooed, "I forgot that's not cranial plating anymore--"  
"It never was; that's my _cheek!"_

Geordi grinned, though his brow felt heavy.  
And as if Vorik heard words unspoken, the Commander turned his head to Geordi with a single raised brow. “You are concerned, Captain."

He grimaced. “Considering how this went the _last_ time we had to do it,” Geordi sighed, “I think my concern is understandable, wouldn’t you say?”

"Indeed. Caution, I find, is healthy under monitored circumstances," Vorik noted, "but we must not let it deter the works of our efforts. And judging by the preliminary analyses of said works, I am confident in this procedure's success today." 

"Whatever might happen?"

"Whatever might happen. Surely, Captain," the Vulcan offered, "an officer from a vessel such as the _Enterprise-D_ knows there is wisdom in the phrase 'expect the unexpected.' And we have prepared ourselves as much as possible to account for all that may _be_ unexpected."

The Captain sighed, looking back to Hugh who was talking with Crosis and going over mental exercises. "You're right. And I'm sure a _Voyager_ vet is confident saying something like that."

"That is an understatement, Captain La Forge."

Geordi firmed his jaw, plapping his combadge and standing a bit taller. "Offsite team, sound off: Junction V'evik, got the sphere-wide interface ports on monitor?" 

_"'On monitor' and ready to report any anomalies, Captain,"_ V'evik confirmed, _"the Doctor is reported to be in position of the still-dormant drone site sector."_

 _"Junction V'evik is correct! We're holding steady on 973 stable, sleepy lifesigns,"_ the EMH crooned. _"V'evik's safeguard program for Hugh has been successfully installed and screened across all their alcoves, thanks to the many busy bees of Relays and Ensigns."_

 _"Pre-determined molecular reconstruction route has been installed, Atlas,"_ Five called over the combadges as the sound of a shunted canister went into a slot. _"Director Hugh should be ready to start rebuilding the program."_

 _"Hyades is also fixed within the apparatus,"_ V'evik followed with, _"we may begin whenever the Director is ready."_

 _"I'm ready,"_ came Hyades' voice. _"Everyone has been very helpful, Sirs."_

Slicker than a starship out of drydock, Geordi thought. 

"He seems 'good and ready,' as it were," Id crooned, taking long strides away from Hugh with a handwave as she receded her lower limbs back inside her torso. "The modifications to the interface cables will prevent any possible overload to his organic systems related to electrical connection. And I didn't _touch_ anything. ...Beyond what I was _supposed_ to." 

Hugh rolled his eyes. "I'd beg to differ." 

"Don't beg from me; it's not a good look for you." 

Atlas watched her take a place among Vorik, Geordi, Troval, and Crosis, drawing his attention back down to Hugh as he folded his arms behind his back. Geordi had noticed recently that Atlas gotten better at holding the image of light's reflection against his cheeks, and the green light that spilled out from black sclera against his face and new beard held a wizened countenance that Geordi was growing more familiar with each day.

“Good luck, Director," the hologram spoke. "The way will be clear for you. Remember to listen.” 

Hugh's brow creased, but he nodded. "Thank you. I will." 

Atlas vanished out of existence to the confirmation of Five’s storage device, finalizing his transfer before he appeared again from its shimmering broadcaster. 

In the moment Atlas was gone, the Director's eyes glanced around the group- Geordi's heart trying not to wrench as he met the beautiful man's gaze.

"Notify Chamber 5873 to start the synchronized initialization countdown, please," he asked them. 

So they did, and the seconds began to tick down on his PADD from ten. Nine. 

Eight.

> _Seven.  
> _ _[Six]  
> _
> 
> ` [D o n't co u n t ]`

Geordi looked up.  
He noticed Crosis had too.

> ` [ t hi n k of m e ]` ``

A fair request.   
So he thought of Hugh- lit by the Grand Observation Chamber's window, his laugh as bubbly as the dimples on his cheeks and the champagne in his flute... and dressed in the fineries of his people; in all beauty, radiance, and pride for his people.

> _I love you._

He wondered what Crosis thought of.

At zero, Geordi pressed **< INITIATE>** with a beep and a prayer, and Hugh gasped as his eyes snapped open and he was flung somewhere far, far different than just his body of flesh, blood, and cybernetic bone.

Sure enough, Hugh’s eyes bubbled and phased out into that cubical, black-and-green stare he had four months ago as his mouth quivered and his skin grew noticeably paler. Geordi did his damnedest to avoid a grimace as he watched Hugh’s cheek undulate and warble with suddenly-thickened veins, Troval huffing a hard sigh and Crosis fiddling with his hands as their friend endured this yet again. Hugh's augmented hand spasmed and twitched some as he regained his mental and physical ground, the xBs' PADDs beeping in confirmation that Hugh's synchronization was nearing its end.

"He's coming around," Id spoke, stepping towards where Atlas was, "his overview integration is nearly complete."

Geordi's brow rose. "You can tell just by looking at him?" 

"The sounds of your PADDs help, but... yes," she said. "Just as Atlas can, too." 

Geordi turned to Atlas, who was regarding the Director that sat before them all. "The most apt comparison I am able to make," Atlas explained, "I owe partially to my own experiences utilizing Crosis' body. ...Imagine, Captain, if you had begun stretching: all your muscles, ligaments- all your bones and blood and tendons, every... _minuscule_ sensation organics are able to feel was splayed out over a plane," the photonic said with a grimace, "and that stretch did not stop until you _told_ yourself to stop."

"Only until you reach the _highest point_ of your zenith, do you look back down," Id mused, whimsy in her eyes as she flexed one of her hands, "and realize that you must come back down."

It really _was_ like enveloping a sphere, Geordi thought.

The glances of conern between him, Crosis, and Troval was all Geordi needed to know that he wasn't the only one silently hoping this went bearable for Hugh.

And as Hugh sat cross-legged before the shadow of the planet-like, green hologram with the light spilling over his shoulders, Geordi suddenly realized that Hugh’s presence was most likely all around them, and it was very hard not to feel as if he was in the presence of a newly-realized spectre.

“State your designation,” Atlas and Id’s voice spoke in unison- all Geordi, Crosis, and Troval turning their direction to the AI and former Queen. 

Hugh’s jaw was still shuddering, eyes wide as his chest slowly heaved up and down. 

“State your _name,”_ Atlas tried instead. Id rolled her eyes, as if it were a formality.

But Hugh finally shut his mouth and blinked for the first time since the uplink began.

**“Executive Director Hugh of the Liberated Borg Cooperation’s Reclamation Project.”**

Id seemed to accept this as Atlas regarded him, Hugh’s words rumbling as the Language of Information intertwined with his organic voice.

“State your purpose for this uplink.”

**“Locate a suitable point of execution for the molecular reconstruction program.”**

“State status of connection to uplink.”

**“99.99% connection rate established.”**

Id was quiet. Atlas was too.

But the hologram suddenly began to walk towards the Director, hands behind his back and unafraid of that ghastly deep voice as he stood before Hugh. 

Atlas knelt, then, in front of Hugh- with his fingertips steepled together and locs falling over his shoulders- Id watching the two with intrigue and wonder. 

“Where are you, Director.”

Hugh was silent, but Geordi could tell from the glow of his pupils that his eyes were darting about wildly at this question.

Atlas repeated himself. “Where _are_ you.”

Hugh, gripping his knees and his back hunching over, took in a deep breath that made his shoulders rise as the cables above him swayed absently back and forth… and Hugh slowly let out that breath, a muffled rumble shaking the converted Queencell and halls beyond it, as if Hugh’s own lungs shook the very walls. 

**“Everywhere.”**

Geordi swallowed at this implication, trading nervous glances with all in attendance… until he looked to Id- who stood with a wary stance, and her eyes holding a vindication and pride Geordi had no name for.

“Collect yourself, Director,” Atlas guided him, “and begin with Chamber 0001. Proceed escorting the program until Chamber 6000."

Hugh slowly straightened himself with a deep breath as he sat up straighter. 

Geordi watched Hugh's gentle hands fold in his lap, and he wondered about how small Hugh's own body must feel to him right now. 

"Try to recall our previous discussions," Atlas spoke to the Director. 

Hugh's jaw shuddered again- dropping open for another moment before scooping back up. 

**"Initial adaption synchronization is complete,"** Hugh spoke. 

"Then come back." 

Hugh was silent, Id's lips squirmed... but Atlas placed a hand on Hugh's shoulders, his cubical stare fixed on the Director before him. 

"Come back, Director. ...You are not that which you see _,"_ Atlas reminded him, "you are _observing_ it." 

Geordi's brow furrowed as he listened to Atlas; trying to grapple the very vast implications the hologram was making... 

> `[Co m e b a ck]`

**`` `` **

In a returning surge, Geordi suddenly understood- even moreso once Hugh gasped and sat up with a start. Geordi let out a breath he'd been anxiously holding, watching the Director with relief as Hugh blinked his still-harrowing eyes. The cables still swayed above him and He tossed the man a relieved expression as Geordi ran a hand over his beard... and he glanced up to the former queen, who watched him with careful regard and smarmy intrigue. 

"Was that _good_ for you," Id jeered, frowning as she looked him over. 

Hugh, meanwhile, was running a hand over his face as Atlas held the other- the xB patting and holding his chest as he took many deep breaths. **"I-I... I am--... I'm here. The connection's still established."**

Geordi looked to Atlas and the hologram gave him a permissive nod, the Captain immediately placing his hands on Hugh's shoulders. "Hugh?" Geordi remarked, "You're out of it, right? You're good?"

 **"Yes,"** Hugh breathed, **"I'm alright. T-thank you both, I'm just... not--"** the xB shuddered with a choked laugh, and his voice rasped with an extra synthetic filter, ** _"used_ to this."**

"As we discussed was possible. But you are here," Atlas reminded him, "as am I, Captain La Forge, Junction Troval, and... Id."

The former queen frowned. "Don't sound too thrilled about me."

"Pulse is holding steady," Troval spoke so Id did not have to. "Connection rate between his cybernetic matrixes and organic neurons are holding between 99.99%, .98..."

 _"All programming protocols and subroutines are activated and operating within expected parameters, Captain,"_ Five called over the combadge.

V'evik followed her. _"Hyades is connected to the central apparatus, Sirs; her cybernetic matrix is open to implementing the molecular reconstruction."_

"Hugh's bodily nanoprobe count is estimated at _twice_ the normal count of 3.6 million," the Medical Junction sighed, "but that's to be expected. And V'evik's protocol program is blocking reproduction of any more excess nanoprobes than is needed." 

"That explains some things," Geordi murmured, his brow creasing as he looked over Hugh's pale, veined skin and slowly-pulsating cheek. "You ready to start, Hugh?" 

Seeing infinitely through another pair of eyes, Hugh slowly brought his stare up from his lap to Atlas, Crosis, Geordi, Troval... and Id, who he looked absolutely enraptured with. 

Her lips tightened. "Well?" she asked, "are you?"

Hugh took in another long sigh at the former queen's words. **"Yes."**

Hugh's eyes glanced all around and when his glowing eyes landed on Geordi, it'd been like someone pointed a megaphone of rumbling, thrumming base directly at his mind. 

By the look of Crosis and even _Troval_ squinting, the residual, mental dialogue wasn't exclusive to Geordi.

> **`[s t a y]` **

He sure as hell wasn't going anywhere else. 

But Geordi noticed Crosis mournful smile, nodding as he put a large hand on Troval's shoulder. "We will, Hugh," the el-Aurian told his interfaced friend. "We're not going anywhere." 

So with a nod, Geordi tried to grin too. "Take a hike, Director." 

For a healthy level of scanning, it was determined Hugh's cybernetic matrixes could handle reviewing and deploying the reconstruction program in 50 chambers and their conjoining hallways per-minute, clocking this operation in at a total of nearly two hours. A lot of it came down to watching numbers, keeping vigilant eyes for wavering patterns or corridors with remnant fragments of data; whenever Hugh passed by hundreds of chambers that held nothing they sought, he'd inevitably come across a certain wing that made his eyes flicker like a buffer pattern, and the reconstruction program fill up a few more. Crosis and Atlas kept his mind anchored, Troval watched his health, Id manned the interface cable monitoring, and Geordi and Vorik oversaw the program's progress. Meanwhile, down in Chamber 5873, the team of Five, V'evik, and Hyades worked together to figure out where to organize the packet's data: the Doctor constantly monitoring the health of Hyades and 973 other sleeping drones, V'evik analyzing the cybernetic interface of her augments, and Five tending to the blue-tinged fungi she treated herself with that same argon-xenon infusion they found all those weeks ago. 

They were still as slick as the start, Geordi knew, but it felt hardly any kind of reassuring every time the group heard Hugh gasp in those sudden bursts of overwhelmed contact with a large chunk of restored data.

With five minutes left to go, a collective breath was being both let out and hissed inward, as the group was well aware that safety was not guaranteed until the entire operation was wrapped up. 

"Y'hear that Hugh?" Geordi yawned, "you're almost done and you've just gotta finish the upload; come on back..." 

**"Understood,"** Hugh spoke evenly. **"Beginning reroute back to origin point."**

Good, Geordi thought.  
You better.

"Finally," Id sighed, "I was beginning to get quite bored, admittedly. Though you _have_ performed quite commendably, Hugh."

Vorik frowned. "You are correct, but your tone is unsettling."

"You almost make it sound like you _want_ something 'interesting' to happen," Geordi agreed. "We don't need that right now, Id; especially _him."_

"Spare me your protectiveness, Captain," Id told him right back. "Make no mistake when I say I am _plenty_ impressed he did this well, though I'm about to predict you'll tell me that 'it was all thanks to everyone's combined efforts' and the li--" 

**"S..."**

Geordi, Vorik, and Id stopped. 

**"Substi..."**

Atlas paused. "Director?"

A very dull static of a noise was beginning to make itself known in The Captain's head.  
From the looks on Crosis and Troval's faces, Geordi could tell their Progenitor link heard this static too. 

**"There is a--"** Hugh uttered, his voice wavering, **"substitution available for directional guidance regarding... the remaining 973 dormant drones. They are still asleep and it is... approaching me; they--"**

"You _cannot_ , Hugh," Crosis told him urgently, "leave, or turn the other way; they will be tended to in due time."

"You are not that which you observe," Atlas reminded. "You are outside of it." 

Hugh's jaw shook again, and his chest began to heave.

**"There are so... there are so many, and they are so vast, I--"**

Geordi could've sworn that he heard Troval utter a "fuck" under their breath as PADDs began beeping and the Captain felt his gut knot in on itself.

**"I do not know if I can-- access where I was returning, where was I, I can't ̷se̸e̸--"**

"His processors are starting up a retrace sequence," Troval said in a rising panic as they tapped on their PADD, "Junction V'evik, reassert your diversion subroutine, now-" 

_"I am attempting to, Junction Troval,"_ V'evik called, _"but it-- the program is not interacting--"_

 _"What's going on up there?!"_ the EMH complained now, _"all 973 drones are still dormant, but their energy signatures are coalescing into a single pattern as if--"_

"--they were a singularity," Id filled in with a growing waver of peril in her typically smooth voice, "a singularity that will draw in whatever is activated or in its vicinity; like Hugh's interface, the reconstruction packet..." 

> _Like a fucking black hole._

Hugh's hands held his face as his whole body shuddered. 

"Hugh," Geordi now tried, "come on, call it og 

**"I'm trying, but... t-they, they want me- the combined signal, it's--!"**

> **`[T O O M U CH]` **

"Get him out--" Crosis and Atlas were trying to get a hands on him as they flew to Hugh's side, "get him out, now--"

Their hands recoiled as if Hugh were made of a remnant static, Crosis hissing and Atlas' hand greebling and warbling from a disrupted holomatrix as Five's storage device wailed a warning.

"He's resyncing through all the previous chambers at an incredible speed," Vorik called, watching the numbers as they audibly ticked back up towards 6,000. "At this rate, he will be completely interfaced and begin breaching the drone firewall in three minutes, Sir-" 

_"Sirs?"_ Hyades called now, and the worry in her voice broke Geordi's heart, _"what's going on?"_

"Station wide red alert!" Geordi called, "Hugh; come back, come on!" 

_"We are still receiving the reconstruction packet data, Captain!"_ V'evik called, Geordi trying to hear the Vulcan over the louder thrum of the cables. " _We will be fully operational soon, but if the Director is compromised then what--"_

"Working on it!" Geordi called, "just try to isolate yourselves down there for now! ...Can we eject the cables, the connection, _anything--"_

"It's not accepting our remote inputs for rejection," Troval said, shaking their head as visible shocks littered the bundle of cables, Crosis approaching with a warping image of Atlas. "The currents running through the cables, they'll shock any organic skin if we try to touch him right now! Not to mention we'd-- have to manually pull them once he's recollected; it's--"

Geordi ran his hands over his face, not liking this shrinking window of options as Hugh seemed further and further away.

And before Geordi had a moment to wonder where the hell Id was, he pulled his face out of his hands at the sound of two prosthetic legs trotting quickly across the floor, grabbing all ten cables with all four hands and holding them against the green-tinged crackles that littered her cybernetic body. 

**"HUGH, YOU IDIOT!"** Id hollered at him, her stilt-like foot pressed against his shoulderblade as she gripped his bundle of cables. "YOUR LITTLE RECLAMATION PROJECT WILL TEND TO THEM SOON ENOUGH!

Crosis and Atlas had to hold back Geordi's instinctual run for Hugh. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"Getting ready TO 'PULL THE PLUG' as soon as you're able; WHAT DOES IT _LOOK LIKE!?_ **HUGH,** " the former queen bellowed once more, "YOUR PROJECT IS HERE! THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO FOR THEM NOW; **PULL YOURSELF BACK, YOU _SANCTIMONIOUS LITTLE--!"_**

And for all the chaos of the Queencell; for all the green-tinged energy that seemed to spark and flare from Hugh and cut Id off in a hiss of pain, the worry that tried to crush Geordi, that did something.

**"DO YOU HEAR ME?!"**

In a mental space where nothing really was, something clicked.  
Geordi saw a hand, and he grasped for that hand in a desperate haze.

** `[i t' s no t mine]` **

Hugh's eyes looked up from the floor- all Crosis, Troval, and Atlas noticing immediately. **"I̴-̴i̵t̴.̷.̸.̷"**

Crosis watched him with a signature xB stare. "Hugh?"

**"I̴-̴i̵t̴'s.̷.̸.̷"**

Id grit her teeth over where she held his cables, but the crackles of energy deafened his voice. **"SPEAK UP!"**

 **"I̸t̷'̵s̶ ̶n̸o̵t̷ ̶m̶i̷n̶e̶,̷"** Hugh's voice now shook, the xB breathing harder and seeming to stir awake as he straightened against Id's heel. **"T̶h̵e̸ ̷R̷e̸c̷l̸a̶m̴a̴t̴i̴o̵n̶ ̵P̵r̴o̵j̵e̷c̵t̵,̶ ̶i̴t̷'̵s̵.̷.̶.̷ ̸i̸t̸'̴s̴ ̴n̴o̶t̸ ̴ _m̵i̴n̵e..̶.̶"_**

And Geordi, despite all that panic and worry, finally began to grin. 

> _Atta boy._

**_"I̵̗̅T̵̓̓ͅ'̵̯̓͆S̷͈̔ ̴̠͎̒N̴̮̎O̸̡͆̚T̷̘͕̅ ̷̛̖M̶̬̓́I̶̼̎N̶̯̍Ę̶̛̝͘!̵̩͌"̸̼͗_**

> _Come back, baby._

"Molecular reconstruction packet transfer complete!" Vorik called, "the program is returned to Chamber 5873's control scheme and his localization is dropping back down--"

"Vitals are still critical," Troval called, "but his matrix, it's recollecting--!"

Though later Geordi would see this moment only lasted 4.41 seconds, everything seemed to happen all at once- in both the queencell ops and over the combadges. 

A gasp that sounded like Hyades' voice accompanied a strange, ethereal woosh in Chamber 5873.

Chitterings and the familiar clickings of the _stellaviatori_ samples could be heard behind Five and V'evik, who traded surprised, shocked, and bewildered murmurs.

EMH called out over the comm that the 973 drones were falling back into their original, singular dormancy signatures.

Id stood above Hugh with a leg on his back and her teeth grit against lightning-like crackles that lit up her cheekbones- as if she were an archangel readying a spear.

Vorik, Crosis, and Atlas stared on as Troval held their arm up to shield her eyes and watch their PADD.

And Hugh was pulling himself back together across 6,000 rooms and infinite hallways through a holler and the defiant crackle of emerald energy.

**Ä̸̟͔́̍͜A̷̛̯͘͘Ȁ̷̮̘͍̄̍A̵̡͓͘A̸̡̗͒͘A̸͈͚̫̽Ạ̴̰̭̅̊̚A̸̢͚̓͐Ȃ̷̻͂A̸̹͚͙͝A̶̟̗̅A̸̒̎̂ͅḀ̶̓͠A̶̰͆͋̏Ä̷̞́̐Ą̵͈̤̒͂̂À̶̯̋̕Ȃ̵̟A̸̝͋͐̉Ả̶͈͍͖̈A̴̖̹͌͗À̴̧̏͒ͅA̶̟̯̒̍̓Ä̶̘́̒A̴̙̒̐̕**

"Hugh's bodily re-localization is at 100%!"

"PULL!"

Id ripped out all ten cables with satisfying clicks and a defiant cry, Hugh's body still intact as he flopped to his side and curled inward on himself despite the crackles from behind him. 

Geordi, running on pure Starfleet instinct, clamored over to where Hugh and Id were, trying to figure out where in the hell to start. His augmented hand was twitching but his eyes, thank God, they were fading back to blue and brown as Troval shakily muttered "he's stabilizing." as the three xBs stayed hunched over him and assured Geordi they could take care of him, the excess connection electrons dissipated through the hull, and Geordi found himself near Id and offered a hand to one of her four, the former queen trying to regain her balance through grit teeth and a shaking of her head. 

Some of the skin around the connection to her body clamps looked... burnt? 

"Thank you," Geordi said quietly, "really, I- I-I mean it--"

Id tightened her lips and nodded, which Geordi supposed was the closest thing to a "you're welcome" he'd get from her right now.

But he looked back to her skin. "You need to--"

"I would say 'tend to _him_ for now,'" Id said with a grimace, "but it seems he has _enough_ people hovering over him." 

_"V'evik!"_ And it was Hyades' voice, _"Nonono please--"_

 _“Junction Five to Queencell supervision personnel, come in!”_ came the Engineer’s desperate holler over the combadge. _“Please respond!”_

Before Geordi time to fully respond as he plapped his badge in confirmation, Five interrupted with what sounded like shuffling of another body on her end. _“Hyades and I, we're alright, but-- Junction V’evik took a shock from the cybernetics interface's discharge and sustained a head injury after hitting the wall, Sirs,”_ she managed. _“I need Junction Troval, Commander Vorik, someone down here, anyone-- there’s blood coming from their ear and I can’t wake them up--”_

 _"I have made it back to Chamber 5873, Sirs, and I agree,"_ the EMH said solemnly, _"we will need an emergency beam-out to_ Solstice, _Captain."_

"Call _Solstice_ and have CMO Bartholomew on standby supervise now with Director Hugh; Troval, you taking him with you?"

"Absolutely, Sir." 

" _Solstice_ ops; I want locks on Director Hugh, Junctions Troval, V'evik, Five, EMH, and Hyades beamed out now and directly to Sickbay." 

_"Aye Captain."_

And as Hugh vanished in Troval's knelt embrace, Geordi stood there and reeled himself back in to his existence, responsibilities, and duties as a Captain- the room eerily quiet 

Just as Hugh had done, he supposed. 

Geordi sniffed, running a hand down his face as he shuddered a sigh. "Cancel red alert."

* * *

**[EARTHEN CALENDAR - JANUARY 5, 2392]**   
**SPECIALTY OUTPOST STARBASE _"SP-4852 SOLSTICE"_   
STATION CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS**

The first day in _Solstice's_ Sickbay, Hugh awoke as himself.   
He awoke as Hugh, himself, in his body, and hypersensitive to every single implant jack currently hooked into his body for Troval's analysis. 

He nearly had to be sedated the first time he woke up hollering, shaking, Troval grappling him by the shoulders and telling him he was fine, that he was safe. 

So, for the first day in _Solstice's_ Sickbay, he merely slept in a medical regeneration alcove.

Though he was not conscious to receive their visits, Hugh would later swear he felt familiar hands hold his own through various parts in the day, and even the weight of a small cat's sleeping body rest atop his embedded sternum implant. 

The second day in _Solstice's_ Sickbay, he had the clarity to speak, pass memory and sensory tests, and could even stand with the assistance of Sickbay staffers and his brace. Troval jokingly shook a small vial filled with the excess 4,678,325 nanoprobes that they extracted from his system and congratulated him on his "new children," CMO Bartholomew audibly squicked and begging Troval to stop with that gross rattling.

Troval joked that she simply didn't get it; that a non-xB could never understand why xBs "played" with and so easily joked about the augments lifted from or done to their bodies.  
Hugh supposed his friend was right, in a way.

With firmed lips, it was after this humor that Troval informed Hugh that he was not the only one from the operation in Sickbay, and led them to V'evik's alcove, the xB sleeping sans their prosthetic arm and leg. A dermal regenerator patch covered the side of their head where blood had apparently leaked from an impact; V'evik was still sound of mind and would be fully recovered within another day, but the silence of regeneration was a horrible place to seek comfort in someone's sanctity and clarity.

Troval assured Hugh it was not his fault. It wasn't; none of what happened was directly his fault. How could it be; it's not as if he'd flung the young Vulcan against the wall himself, not as if he'd sought to lord over all those drones and take their wills and the sphere for himself...

Troval let him weep against their shoulder in a tight hug, anyway.   
For in truth, Hugh suspected, his friend was just as happy and relieved to be speaking to _their_ friend; a friend who did not die at the hands of a vessel-wide uplink, and for whom they'd shared 23 years of their life with.

He tried to further inquire the nature of their findings from the retrieved data packet. Troval told him they were all still forming a clearer picture of it- that Geordi and Crosis and Atlas were taking care of things for him while he recovered.   
Hugh suspected that this was partly true, that Troval may be keeping information from him for the sake of letting Hugh's mind rest- but he knew better than to tax himself further.

Before the second day ended, before he entered his evening regeneration cycle for another deep bout of healing and recovery, Geordi and Crosis came to visit. The men peered at him from the doorway; quiet, nervous, wondering if they'd disturbed his rest... but Hugh held his augmented hand out, and his face began to burn.

Hugh would weep two more times before he entered into a nightly regeneration cycle: in love, in relief, and in thankfulness. 

On the third day, Hugh was released from Sickbay, but V'evik was kept one extra day to ensure there was no lingering head trauma. Hugh spent the day acclimating and attending a debrief that he felt was going to be very revealing, and would explain why Geordi and Crosis looked so tired. 

Id was there.   
He shook one of her four hands and told her "thank you" before the meeting started.   
Surprisingly, another of her hands came to envelop his own. 

> _"We are now 'even,' Hugh. Rest in that assurance."_

And Hugh supposed that, for as suddenly and forcefully as they had ripped Id from her Queencell four months ago, she was correct.

Clarity began to come back to Hugh as he listened and recounted his own experiences. From what they'd been able to extract and the resulting software molecular reconstruction gave them and even in V'evik's absence, they were able to unveil that the sphere's directional apparatus was very much similar to how Ursa had arrived, and eventually left by the same jolt of ethereal energy. When they had played back the security footage of Chamber 5873's remote camera, the world that Five, V'evik, and Hyades were in shifted and showed them among seacliffs on a very familiar coast. Seacliffs she'd just seen of Ohniaka III from a certain holodeck.

By stepping through a realm created by the spores that littered Chamber 5873, activating this technology with the recovered programming from Hugh's interface, and navigating by a genetically altered drone's mental faculties thanks to Hyades' growing individuality, the spherical hull of Atlas had the ability to travel literally anywhere in the cosmos with the simple input of coordinates. 

And something had gone disastrously wrong with the Borg's first attempted test of this technology in the year 2374. 

Thankfully (and shockingly), this was the first recorded encounter with this type of Borg navigational system.  
Because it turned out that not only Janeway, not only Admiral Clancy- but the collective face of Starfleet paled at the idea of the Borg being able to travel instantly anywhere- even moreso than subspace warp conduits.

By the implication of what this could mean for all life who relished individuality, the Atlas Project had another new mission.   
Refine, study, and learn to operate this uniquely-embedded, highly-classified propulsion system, as well as find out wherever (or whenever) Atlas' host cube was.

But the 973 Unreclaimed (now 925) still came first, as much as Starfleet wanted other prolific answers.   
Janeway (and eventually Clancy), with tight lips, accepted and understood.

For if this revelation had come to them naturally, Hugh argued, what else would reveal itself to them with less than two months left?

By the end of the conference, all were quiet, and Atlas looked possibly the most harrowed Hugh had seen the hologram since he held him by the shoulders using Crosis' hands.

As the day cycle turned to night, with a mind burdened by purpose and urgency he'd rather go towards healing the Unreclaimed, Hugh met Geordi in his quarters.

He met him in love, in adoration: in mutually-pleasing desperation, in careful, passionate revelry of the other, and Hugh gave thanks for every neuron and cell in his body that he was still alive and able to meet Geordi as he'd done before this uplink. 

Hugh was very proud of the fact he only wept against him once, and that Geordi held him close as Hugh managed a quiet "I love you" against the man's head.  
The fact Geordi wept with him comforted Hugh all the more.

And despite sleep, Hugh found himself somewhere else, after sleep.   
Or during sleep? 

Maybe. 

> _[He couldn't tell]_

> _It was sunrise over Ohniaka III. He had awoken from his regeneration alcove’s cycle some amount of minutes ago, some amount of seconds ago, and he had begun to meander out from his stasis room and towards the outdoor balcony of his living quarters._
> 
> _Why did he not know the exact amount of time? Should his visual UI not tell him this, even if he was not actively counting the minutes and seconds gone by?_
> 
> _He could look at his archive later._
> 
> _In the Ohniaka III sunrise, the sky was still twisted pink and yellow and lime and emerald, gold-tinged clouds bursting above the mountain-lined horizon as the sun poured over the light-dotted metropolis before and around and beyond him. The buildings, dotted with the natural flora of Ohniaka III, stood as beautiful, brutalist shadows against the dawn of a new day, the thriving green of plant life a clear defiance of his people's former Oppressor._
> 
> _His people._
> 
> _His planet.  
> _ _His city.  
> _ _His home._
> 
> _A home he had built with 54,000 others._
> 
> _But shouldn’t that number be higher now, he thought? He was doing something beyond this sunrise to increase that number; to bring thousands more to their new home, to live with him on Ohniaka III, so they too may enjoy this sunrise._
> 
> _He could look at his archive later._
> 
> _Because as he walked through a slow and steady world dressed in his favorite cloak-like fineries, he saw a man standing at the balcony and looking over its sweeping view._
> 
> _This man wore different clothes than he did normally. It was strange, and yet it was not strange to not be seeing the man wearing red. Instead, he wore flowing sleeves and a tunic and boots much like his people did; gold jewelry that he knew the man loved littered his fingers, his wrists, and a familiar earring dangled from the man's ear as his ringed hand extended towards Hugh with a sweep of his cloak and a smile on his face._
> 
> _"Isn't it beautiful?" he told the man, taking the hand as a slow and slurry-like wind whipped his face._
> 
> _"It is," the man agreed, his hand winding around his hip and bringing him closer. "I love it. I love you."_
> 
> _It was a touch from the man he loved. He did not know how long this touch lasted._
> 
> _He could look at his archive later._
> 
> _He recognized who the man was-- it was Geordi, of course it was! The man was Geordi; he sounded happy, he was dressed in his people's fashion and fineries, and he was here with him in his home he had built with 54,000 others._
> 
> _"It's all yours," Geordi said. The beautiful way he spoke came so easily to Geordi._
> 
> _"And what is yours is mine," he said back. Words could be hard for Hugh, but Geordi helped him find them much easier._
> 
> _"You are beautiful."  
>  "So are you." _
> 
> _He lost himself in their traded words. How long did he speak? What else did he say, why could he not remember this in his home?_
> 
> _He could look at his archive later._
> 
> _He knew, however, that at the end of their conversation, he wanted to kiss Geordi._
> 
> _With a smile, his right hand cusped Geordi by the jaw as he kissed him.  
>  And because everything he had was Geordi's and wanted him closer, his assimilation tubules slid out of his wrist and into Geordi’s skin._
> 
> _Oh, how indescribable it was! It should be impossible, he kept it from being possible- but it was happening! A burden of individuality was that sometimes there were too many words and now there were so many as he wanted to see through Geordi's beautiful eyes, feel his lips against his own and their own and--_
> 
> _“Hugh-” Geordi murmured._
> 
> _Hugh stopped._
> 
> _Although his kiss was sweet and his presence within Geordi felt right, he realized this was wrong- and though Hugh tried to recall his tubules, he could not, and he pulled away to watch a sight he never wanted to see._
> 
> `[H u g h ?]`
> 
> _The man before Hugh, Geordi, was succumbing to assimilation, his brow stricken by sickly veins and the crest of an optical implant bursting out of his eyebrow. He could only hold him now, his hand and wrist stuck as Geordi's body lurched and he fell to the ground with him, in a slurry, in a panic--_
> 
> `[H u g h --]`
> 
> _And Hugh wept, cursing, uttering and pleading the man’s name, holding Geordi’s body close to him as he shivered and heard the sickening sound of flesh twisting with metal- the Ohniakan sun was beating down on him, and only when he looked up blinded by tears and anger at himself did he see that sun was looking back-- it was green, it was blinding, blotting out the sun and it was an eye, an eye--!_

“Hugh!”

Geordi, Geordi; how was he speaking right now, he was dead!

Hugh could not look, though, he did not want to see; for Hugh’s arm was resting over his eyes as he wept, and he was lying back somewhere in darkness. 

But wasn’t-- where?   
Was that Geordi’s hand on his shoulder?

“Hugh, Hugh--” Geordi’s voice murmured, and it was not littered with the reverb of a vocal processor, but instead it shook with fear and worry. “Hugh baby, come on, snap out of it--” 

The xB gasped and sniffed, blinking hard despite the darkness and trying to focus his eyes: “You’re--? Geordi... It’s, y-you, I’m--” 

“Look around,” Geordi led him with, “look at me Hugh; _look_ at me, please; you gotta—-“

It had been a dream. 

A terrible, horrible, _frightening_ dream, and Hugh had been weeping in the waking world as much as he had during his nightmare.

“Oh… o-oh, it--” Hugh sniffed, giving Geordi some time to call for very dim lights, “it was a… Geordi I’m so sorry, I saw you, and-- wait, I need to--” 

Hugh pressed his hand against the other man’s chest, his visual UI darting all over Geordi's face and looking for any hints of implants or augments. Hugh’s vision, still blurred by tears, had to check, had to make _sure_ that Geordi wasn’t being assimilated before his very eyes as the hand moved up from Geordi’s chest to feel around his eyebrow, his jaw, an eye...

He caught that he was touching Geordi's face with his augmented hand, and Hugh loathed the instinctual recoil he felt in his hand.

Geordi was fine. He was alright. He wasn’t dying, he wasn’t _losing_ himself to the Collective, Hugh hadn't sentenced him to death of the self- and a new weight of exhaustion settled on Hugh’s heart as Geordi pulled him into a hug and rubbed small circles into his back.

“That bad?”

Hugh took in another breath.

“I haven’t-- dreamed like that in a while,” he said quietly after another sniff. “Not since… last Cubesfall, I think.”  
“I can guess why.”   
“Mhm.”

“Do you need to talk about it?” Geordi asked gently. 

Hugh wrapped his lips in on themselves as a sigh left his aching chest. 

“I told you a few weeks ago,” Hugh wavered as Geordi released him from the tight hug, “that… sometimes I wonder what it would be like if you were an xB. I still think about that sometimes, I _still_ wonder, but… Geordi,” he sighed shakily, “please… I hope you know I would never, _ever,_ want you to endure, the… _process_ of what that entails. I don’t, Geordi; I would _never--”_

“Shh,” Geordi assured him, “I know. I-I don’t-- I can’t imagine many xBs who _would.”_

Hugh managed a breathless laugh. “No. Not at all."

The two were quiet as they marinated in the night’s silence, Geordi finally uttering a "come on" as they snuggled tightly back down into bed. The smell of Geordi's aftershave filled his olfactory processors as he mentally willed better REM protocols into his matrixes, running subroutines to clear any tactile phantom sensations that dream may have left him with.

Hugh’s chronometer said it was 0329.

“We must really be on the same wavelengths,” Geordi laughed bitterly. “I was, uh… sleeping real shitty there for a bit. I was awake a few minutes before you started sobbing like you were.” 

Hugh now looked up at Geordi with a creased brow. “It wasn’t… the _same_ dream, was it?”

“No no, no. At least-- I don’t think so. Not from what you’ve hinted at.” 

Geordi squeezed his hand. “Data was there. And so was Id. Or not-- Id _herself,_ but another queen.”

And Hugh could tell that Geordi did not want to talk about this dream, either. 

Hugh's leg found the raised pillow on his side of the bed, shuffling under the sheets as he rested with Geordi and the white noise of _Solstice_ overtook the Captain's quarters. 

“I feel as if… I need to _talk_ to Id,” Hugh said quietly. “Sincerely. Directly; for both our sakes. For closure.” 

Geordi gave a long, quiet sigh.

“Do you _want_ to?”

“I’ve talked to her for _how_ many Consultations sessions now,” Hugh offered. “But… she is keeping something from me, Geordi. And therefore, us.” 

“Do you want me there? Or something you wanna do yourself?”

Hugh kissed the nape of Geordi's neck. “This is not your burden, dear; and you’ve already supported me so much. Sometimes, I-- worry that I’m not _reciprocating_ that support, Geordi.”

Geordi hushed him at that and, in a mutual tug, Geordi began rubbing circles near Hugh's spinal ports again. “You stop iiiit; stop it stop it. We all get bad dreams sometimes. All kinds, really- the bad ones just have a habit of being the worst."

"You're right," Hugh sighed, and spontaneity blessed him with a suddenly-thought-of joke that made him smirk into Geordi's skin, "I'd much rather prefer the good dreams. _Arousing_ dreams even."

"I don't have to get up and go to the bathroom, if that's what you're wondering."

They managed tired, quiet laughs at that. 

“As weird as it may sound… I feel like it’s a good sign, Hugh,” Geordi offered, “when we’re both wondering the same thing, and then get hushed in good faith by the other right after.” 

"You?" the xB murmured, "unsupporting of _me?_ How could that... what would be the reason for that, Geordi?" 

Geordi let out a long sigh through his nose. "All widows come with a special type of baggage, hun." 

Hugh’s chest welled with an ache as he pondered Geordi’s words and basked in his scent.

"It is not baggage. It is a part of you. But if you insist on calling it that... then I will do my best to help you carry that."

Geordi was silent, but he squeezed Hugh a little tighter.   
And for xBs, that was sometimes all the reply one needed.

After another pause, Hugh spoke again: “I am nervous as to what Id may say, Geordi,” he admitted. “Even if I don’t-- know what I’m asking her to tell me.”

“She’s watched you long enough, y’know. I think you have more than enough right to ask what exactly she’s looking for. Or looking _at;_ whichever.”

"Right. Tomorrow, then," Hugh sighed. "Tomorrow I will seek her out. And ask... whatever clarity lends me, I suppose."

"Mmn. For now, though: sleep," Geordi mumbled, lazily mushing a kiss against his cheek and separating their tight hug. "Big Executive Directors _and_ Captains need their beauty sleep." 

"'Beauty sleep?'" 

"I look a lot prettier in the mornings when I get a full night's rest in."

Hugh chuckled quietly. "Yes you do. You _always_ look pretty, but--" 

"Oh hush, you... mmn, actually- y'know what you _could_ do for me, Mr. Support," Geordi asked after a yawn, "could you get me some water, pleeease..."

And if it meant Hugh could hear Geordi make that playful little voice again for all the rest of his days, he'd get however much water it took to quench Geordi's thirst. 

With a reinforced confidence, Hugh let his augmented hand run over Geordi's shoulder. "Of course." 

* * *

**STATION CAPTAIN'S READY ROOM**

"Well... I can't stop you now, can I."   
"I don't think you ever had any intention to."   
"Ahh, got me there. I just like saying it." 

Captain Geordi La Forge grinned as he sauntered closer towards his Ready Room desk where Hugh stood in his usual uniform- a mug of freshly-replicated coffee in one hand, and his other hand now holding the Director's waist. 

"Makes me proud of that headstrong little individuality of yours, after all."

Hugh smiled absently at Geordi as he allowed himself to be scooched closer by the Captain. 

"You're sure you're alright to be doing this by yourself? Seeking Id out like this, talking to her by yourself? This soon, after...?"  
"The further I let it linger," Hugh said quietly, "the further I let this unspoken rift grow between us. And I want answers."  
"You _deserve_ answers," Geordi agreed with him. "Not just for everything, but... actually, yeah. Everything. Whatever she knows, it... might be able to help us." 

A silence hung between them. 

And it was Hugh who raised his hands to hold Geordi by the sides of his face, letting a soft kiss linger as Geordi savored Hugh's sweet lips.

"Good luck with her, alright?"

And Hugh nodded, giving him a reserved grin with those pretty mismatched eyes of his. "Thank you, Geordi. Crosis and Troval know I'm doing this, so..."  
"Don't hesitate to call them if something comes up?" 

Hugh's jaw rolled around some words- as if testing and gauging Geordi's reaction.

"We are as one, dear." 

How was it that a people who were so painfully honest could speak in the most complex of riddles?  
And by Hugh's watching for Geordi's reaction, he could tell that he didn't want to unsettle such a delicate expectation... so the Captain let humor be his guide.

"Mm, well- if we _were,_ you'd be _helping_ me with all this Starfleet paperwork, sooo..." 

And with a chuckle, Hugh papped one cheek and turned from Geordi to go with a "goodbye," sneaking in one more smirk before the doors whisked shut. Geordi licked his lips as if to get the remnant taste of that kiss before coffee would wash it all down, rounding his desk to settle down into that aforementioned paperwork. Before he could bear to bury himself in strongly-worded documents and reviews of the technology reports, he keyed in a code to a desk drawer as he sipped his coffee, pulled out a little velvet box... and smirked at what was Hugh's gifted holo-imager, regarding the aged little thing has he'd done since the 2nd. 

Motioning the holo-imager again to catch the light, Geordi rubbed his cheek the way Hugh held it minutes before. 

> _Just like Beverly, huh._

Wasn't so different from 23 years ago. 

Or was it almost 24 now?

> “Like Geordi… and Hugh.” 
> 
> The words had been sitting in the Lieutenant Commander’s gut for the past half hour while he and Beverly finished up their scans. Like a ship being tossed at sea or a meal that refused to stay down, Geordi’s head throbbed with the guilt of both Hugh’s words and the virus he’d created, and the pressure of senior officers expecting him to upload that program into this drone’s brain near crushing in its weight. A drone who’d discovered what friends were, who asked so many questions about everything and everyone, and who saw the world with new, unbound eyes- one of them holding so many colors it sent Geordi’s VISOR into a dizzy, and the other so wide and hopeful it looked like it could hold all the light of day and more.
> 
> When he’d returned from Data’s sampling room into the lab’s main room after needing to leave and wipe underneath his VISOR, he told Beverly with a tight jaw that he couldn’t go along with the plan anymore.
> 
> And Doctor Crusher wished him luck, because she had a feeling their Captain was going to tell Geordi to do it anyway. 
> 
> So he decided to not think about that impending future right now. Instead, Geordi spun his wheels in Sickbay with Crusher, thankful she could read between the lines of his insistence to “check up on the implants he made.” Data could handle Engineering knowing Geordi was in his lab, Clancy was leading the Lower Deckers on nacelle maintenance; he could allow himself some “buffer time” here with Hugh and Beverly, and Geordi was all the more thankful that the subject was willing and the Doctor was in. 
> 
> “Alright Hugh,” Beverly sighed, Geordi looking up from his tricorder as she spoke, “I recalibrated my dermal regenerator for the dermis around the hydraulics port tubing on that pretty little cheek of yours. Your nanoprobes have already healed your superficial injuries, but it seems like they’re trying to integrate some gravel you got caught in the base of it here,” she indicated with a graceful motion of her finger, Hugh’s organic eye watching its movement like a hawk. “If I don’t disintegrate it, you might have a functional, but loose wire that _could_ get infected, knowing how humid Borg living spaces can get.”
> 
> He was quiet, but he was absolutely listening.
> 
> And Crusher spoke gently, looking between her wand and the Borg’s big ol’ brown eye. 
> 
> “I’m going to wave this around the port site. It might sting a little because it’s breaking down the gravel. Okay?” 
> 
> Hugh paused. “‘Sting?’” 
> 
> “Like ‘hurt,’” Crusher warned, “but nowhere near as bad. Okay? And it’ll be very quick; the sting won’t last.”
> 
> Geordi smirked as Hugh did that halfway nod again- not quite understanding that the word “okay” insinuated a need for choice of approval, but knowing Beverly was about to do something to him regardless.
> 
> And raising her hand to turn on the device, Crusher pointed it at Hugh’s face where the tube plunged into his cheek.
> 
> And while Geordi could see the odd bumps near his tubing’s border start to recede, Hugh did indeed scrunch his eye.
> 
> “Pain is… irrelevant, in the Collective,” Hugh said. “We adapt or find the solution to pain. Why does it…‘hurt’ more,” he asked, “when we are Hugh?” 
> 
> Geordi puffed his cheek. “Probably because in the Hivemind, this is _nothing_ in an audience of billions,” he pointed out, “nothing but a speck. You’re just _one_ Hugh now, with his _one_ cheek that’s stinging.”
> 
> Geordi felt like Hugh understood at least somewhat, but he twitched some, and Beverly held his opposite shoulder a little tighter as she murmured an “I’m sorry” with a steady hand.
> 
> Hugh pouted with another wince. “Is Beverly almost finished with this task?”
> 
> “Ah-ah-ah, wait, wait, aaand… _there_ we go,” Beverly declared. Sure enough, the area where she had wiggled the tube began to seamlessly merge back with Hugh’s skin, a lump of surrounding flesh fully reduced in size as the tube fused back with the drone’s face. Geordi couldn’t help but grin as he watched Hugh wiggle his jaw to test Beverly’s handiwork, blinking at the both of them and the tube looking much less craggy and swollen despite its nanoprobe-stained paleness. Instinctively, Beverly flicked the dermal wand in her hand to be able to hold Hugh by the cheek, the curve of her pointer and thumb cusping around the tube port-in-question as she looked at the drone with utmost fondness. 
> 
> “There we are,” she murmured, smiling sweetly as she held Hugh’s cheek. “Good as new.”
> 
> “Nice one, Bev,” Geordi admitted, “couldn’t have done a better job myself.” 
> 
> And Geordi watched as Beverly became transfixed with the drone whose face she held- for it suddenly struck Geordi that Hugh had probably never been held like that before, had never been _touched_ like that before, and Hugh looked at Beverly as if her hand held all the warmth of heaven.
> 
> Hugh watched her.   
> God, did he watch her.
> 
> “What is... Beverly doing?” Hugh asked, his filtered voice shaking ever the slightest. 
> 
> Beverly’s mouth finally shut back into her signature, kind smile, the Doctor’s thumb tapping twice under his gaunt jawline. “Nothing in particular, Hugh,” she admitted. “People like me, ‘doctors;’ we sometimes call it a ‘bedside manner.’ But it’s just… ‘touch,’” Bev explained, “because touch can help patients feel more comfortable.” 
> 
> She paused before continuing, but Beverly dared not move her hand. “Is this comfortable for you, Hugh?”
> 
> The drone scrunched his brow some as he pondered her question, yet Hugh didn’t move his head an inch.
> 
> “‘Comfortable,’” Hugh tried, “...should it feel similar to friends?” 
> 
> Beverly traded a glance with Geordi before continuing. 
> 
> “It can feel that way, yes.” 
> 
> “Then yes,” Hugh said hurriedly. 
> 
> His expression looked so damned close as to when Hugh had first made the link between “friends” only a half hour before. 
> 
> “We are comfortable.”
> 
> His head tilted more- as if to lean his head into the caress of her palm. 
> 
> “We do not feel… lonely, Beverly.”
> 
> Geordi saw Beverly’s mouth squirm and her throat bob.
> 
> “I’m glad, Hugh.” 
> 
> And Beverly, still smiling, let her palm linger there for a few more moments before moving it to give his nose a tiny pinch, before backing away with wrapped-in lips as she headed for the same room Geordi had just cleared his blurry vision in.
> 
> Oh, Bev.
> 
> Hugh watched her go as the door slid shut behind Crusher, and suddenly Geordi realized he was the new subject of data collection as Hugh’s head turned towards him. 
> 
> Oh, boy. 
> 
> “Why does Beverly leave?”
> 
> “She’ll be back, don’t worry about it,” Geordi answered instead, meandering towards Hugh to start up his own scans on Hugh’s cranial plating. “Bet the Borg don’t really make a habit of casual touch, huh.”
> 
> “Habits,” Hugh followed, “Casual? Touch can be… casual habit? Are there other kinds of habits?”
> 
> So many questions this guy had; where should he start? 
> 
> _Let’s take it from the top._
> 
> “Yeah, actually. For example: I wouldn’t go up to Captain Picard and touch his face like Beverly did, right? because he’s my _Captain_ and you kinda have that different social dynamic. Now Commander Riker and Troi- I don't wanna get between them and _whatever_ they have goin' on with Worf, but I…”
> 
> Geordi trailed off for a moment, trying to find a more simplified place to describe this sorta thing. 
> 
> “...you touch different people in different _ways_ for different _reasons_. I know that’s… probably a lot to think about right now for you, so don’t--” 
> 
> “Why did Beverly touch us like this,” Hugh asked, moving his prosthetic hand up to hold his own face. His eye widened at the sensation, as if Hugh was beginning to notice his face had _feeling_ for the first time, mushing his cheek up and down with those cybernetic fingers.
> 
> Did he have any feeling in that hand at all, Geordi wondered? Did he wonder why that hand wasn’t as warm as Beverly’s?
> 
> For all the wonders of that little holographic imager on his face, had Hugh ever actually seen a reflection of _himself?_
> 
> “It is not the same as when Beverly did this,” Hugh said. “When Beverly… touched.” 
> 
> “Not surprised, considering it’s your _own_ hand as compared to someone else’s. And she touched you like that because… you’re her patient. She’s your Doctor. She cares a lot about you, wants you--” 
> 
> "C-cease," Hugh asked, "repeat." 
> 
> Geordi waited for him.
> 
> “‘You’... can mean ‘Hugh,’” Hugh reaffirmed, putting his snow-white palm to his chest, “when Geordi says this. When Geordi says 'you.'”
> 
> “Right! She cares about Hugh, about _you!_ Beverly wants to see you healthy as her patient, and I…”
> 
> Geordi paused as he watched Hugh look at the hand he’d plapped his own exo-plated chest with, slowly opening and closing it.
> 
> It was remarkably similar to a human hand, but god knew whatever the hell species Hugh was underneath all that plating. 
> 
> “I… can refer to _Geordi,”_ Hugh followed, eyes unmoving from his hand. “That is also _you.”_
> 
> “Yes,” Geordi led with, “just as ‘I’ can refer to _Hugh_ , if _you_ said it.” 
> 
> “Because ‘you’ can be Hugh when others say it… in reference to _Hugh_. To... you?” 
> 
> “You could say 'me,' in that usage. But you’re getting it.” 
> 
> Hugh thought again.
> 
> His organic eye, drawing up from his own pale hand, looked to Geordi’s hands that were holding his PADD.
> 
> Oh god, did he want to… god, yeah, he totally wanted to, and Hugh ever so slowly was reaching out to try and hold Geordi’s right hand. 
> 
> Fuck, _should_ he? What sides were those tubule ports on again- the more augmented hands, right? Trying his damndest to keep his face from scrunching up in apprehension, Geordi swallowed, tucking his PADD underneath his armpit and sticking his hand out for the drone for a hesitant handshake. But Geordi sorely underestimated Hugh’s enthusiasm; seeing the gesture, Hugh grabbed for Geordi’s hand, and… didn’t know quite what to do with it. He eventually got the idea to run his thumb against the side of Geordi’s palm, the engineer admittedly captivated by how much their pigment clashed and just how “room temperature” Hugh’s hand was. 
> 
> A pang of guilt welled in Geordi’s stomach as he watched Hugh… play with? Study? No, just-- touch his hand. The drone marveled at the sensation as Hugh examined each finger, each joint and knuckle and subtle little scar littered across Geordi’s palm. The Borg’s whole thing was data collection, adaptation; Hugh wasn’t obligated to the Hivemind anymore and could keep those experiences to _himself_ now- so what made Geordi, an _engineer_ of all people, so stingy with helping someone like him learn? Realizing this, and with a softening grin, Geordi began to knead Hugh’s soft, snow-white skin with his thumb and fingers as if it were one of Spot’s paws, Geordi’s other hand setting his PADD to the side to give Hugh the full experience of being held by two palms made of flesh and blood.
> 
> Geordi’s brow knit upward as he heard Hugh shudder a gasp.
> 
> “Geordi has… good hands,” Hugh said quietly. “ _Y-you_ have… good hands.”
> 
> “And _yours_ are a bit warmer than I expected,” Geordi admitted with a grin, giving him a squeeze of affirmation. “This alright, Hugh?”
> 
> Hugh half-nodded again… and he looked at his prosthetic hand as if wanting to mimic Geordi’s two, debating, deciding--
> 
> “It’s okay,” Geordi quickly told Hugh to quash his own hesitation. “Just don’t go sticking me with any nanoprobes and we’re good.” 
> 
> “Geordi does not want to be assimilated,” Hugh agreed as he moved his hand upwards. “He… does not wish it. We would not, _Hugh,_ would not... wish it. Me.” 
> 
> And that metallic, bumpy, yet still-warm hand of Hugh’s settled on top of Geordi’s that held Hugh’s organic palm, his VISOR noticing the mingling colors of black, gold, and green between them.
> 
> “These hands are… this unit’s,” Hugh tried. “‘Hugh’s’ hands. ... _Mine.”_
> 
> “Mhm. And they’re pretty alright hands too, if I say so myself.”
> 
> Hugh looked back up to Geordi with that same, doleful stare.
> 
> “I am Hugh.”
> 
> And Geordi smiled with what felt like the same, golden warmth that Hugh’s VISOR aura gave off.
> 
> “Yeah,” he said, “you sure are.”

In the real world, Geordi was knocked out of the memory from a chime at his Ready Room office entrance, putting away Hugh's holo-imager and barking a single “Come!” as his doors opened to reveal V’evik trotting inside.

“Junction V’evik!” Geori chimed. “happy to see you up and at ‘em again.”

“As am I, Captain La Forge,” V’evik greeted, bowing their head with a nod in respect. “Thank you for granting me entry.” 

“No problem at all. What can I do for you, Junction?”

“My reasons for visitation actually regard what I may do for _you,_ Sir. Or rather, _give_. ...I wanted to extend my gratitude towards you, Captain,” V’evik said after a small pause, “and what you and the team did that day to save my life and assist Director Hugh. I have been debriefed, and will continue working as much as I am able for the Unreclaimed and regarding Atlas' interfacing technology. Additionally, Sir,” V’evik continued after another nod, "I request that an additional thanks be extended to a certain Starfleet officer who has been very _insistently_ encouraging to my recovery. I do not know if Starfleet protocol records special notes of workplace benevolence from those outside Starfleet, but I thank Ensign May Ahearn for her engaging morale.”

“I’ll be sure to put it in her file, Junction; thank you. Have a good rest of your shift today... and," he added with a smile and a point of his finger, "stay _safe,_ please.” 

With a bemused grin to usher them out and another nod from the Vulcan, V’evik turned to leave and Geordi’s Ready Room door wooshed shut, the Captain figuring he might as well update that personnel record now before he got too buried in work. Pulling up the database of the 308 Starfleet officers assigned to the Atlas Project, he scrubbed through his own brain to try and remember any other noteworthy hospitality instances of an Ahearn- much less the name in general. All his staff had been stellar picks since the start of the Project, but maybe it was Geordi’s age catching up to him versus the large number of staff, since he was drawing a blank on this Ensign as he kept scrolling.

And scrolling. 

And scrolling. 

And the Captain didn’t find much of an “Ensign May Ahearn” on his staff roster at all- even after three other types of Starfleet database searches.

Geordi’s tongue rolled against his cheek with a very flat, very serious face as he looked at the personnel file for a “May Ahearn” on his LCARS hub- last updated June 9th, 2252.

“Captain La Forge to Commander Vorik,” Geordi said with a plap to his combadge, “report to my Ready Room as soon as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_JR8U_YQEE


	24. [PERSONAL LOG: Stardate 69012.38]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ENTRY 001]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hm. what's this. oh well have fun :) || soundtrack included this juicy plum of a song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nYzbHsuAU8 and OSTs the likes of devilman crybaby and nier so take that how you will || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

``

``

`[> LOCATION LOGGED: SP-4852 _Solstice  
_private quarters of registered user ID]`

`[> RECORDING BEGIN]`

`[> ENCRYPTION CONFIRMED]`

``

> ` [silence, 10.37 seconds]`
> 
> ``
> 
> **[ID]:** This is my first time, making an audio recording like this. Outside of the mental archives that rest comfortably in my millions of processing wafers, of course… and aren’t those infinitely better? I recall the entire _memory_ with them; every microsecond, every movement... why should I even bother with something as trite as _this_ inferior technology?
> 
> **[ID]:** For all of its superiority, however... the Director has offered me-- and _taught_ me, I suppose- the simple act of vocal confession makes the recounted events that much more poignant. Palpable. `  
>  `
> 
> **[ID]:** Singular.  
> I believe I see the point behind his teachings.
> 
> **[ID]:** I suppose, then, these personal logs are my witnesses. Historians. I am certainly no longer a _victor_ by the accounts of my sisters or any other faction in this galaxy, and therefore will certainly _not_ be writing the past. 
> 
> **[ID]:** Perhaps these logs are an alibi, even. By which to confirm what others have said. ...And that my presence to others mattered.
> 
> ` [silence, 4.58 seconds]  
>  ` `[taps of prosthetic finger against recording PADD three times, 2.50 seconds]  
>  ` `[laughs from registered user ID]`
> 
> **[ID]:** Auditory recordskeeping. Who knew it could be so intimate.
> 
> ` [silence, 8.17 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** The Director tells me of a phrase the begotten Borg of Ohniaka III have created. "Start, from the beginning, like all xBs do." More or less. But where is the beginning for one such as myself? Do I tell you of the body I have so lovingly worked on and taken delight in its construction? Do I tell you the way the Little Prince and his calvary ripped me from my shell of a starship and showed me this new way of life?
> 
> **[ID]:** It certainly makes for an interesting story. A story that not many would believe. People 23 years ago _certainly_ wouldn’t have believed you then.
> 
> **[ID]:** But I am finding that, beyond the life I once lived… time does, inevitably, change things.  
> And so does the realm of what seems possible.
> 
> ` [silence, 4.57 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** No. I shall tell you of how he came to me, on that catwalk, 1.43 hours ago. How he came to me with his face set in determination and apprehension- though he held no... malice in those wide eyes of his.
> 
> **[ID]:** I shall speak for him, even though I am beginning to understand _why… "xBs"_ do not _like_ being spoken for. 
> 
> **[ID]:** “Id,” Hugh says calmly, politely; though I notice the coldness, the _caution_ in his voice. “Good morning.”
> 
> **[ID]:** I do not say anything in return, initially; for I do not know _what_ to say, and I do not know what _he_ wants to say.  
> We are no longer each other, after all.
> 
> **[ID]:** So he speaks. “I wanted to thank you for attending the meeting yesterday.” 
> 
> I decide to be plain. “You required information that _I_ acquired based off my observations of your interface. It would only be efficient to do so and relay what I learned.” 
> 
> **[ID]:** “Yes- well,” he says, in that polite little voice of his, “you attended nonetheless. And that requires an affirmation of not only the Reclamation Project’s favor, but… my appreciation. And, as I said yesterday... my thankfulness; for perhaps saving my life.” 
> 
> ` [silence, registered user ID sighing, 5.39 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** I want to be angry at him for how he dares speak to me. How his voice carries so kindly- so patiently. I want him to be angry with _me,_ so that I may be angry with _him._ I want to have a reason so that I may explain why I so loathed him two months ago, and nearly snapped his neck in that anger. 
> 
> **[ID]:** But I do not, and I sweep that panic within me to the side of a processor’s subroutine.  
> I nod to him.  
> My skin does not feel as tight as usual. 
> 
> ` [silence, 6.49 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** And then I notice he is lingering.
> 
> **[ID]:** His microexpressions and his heightened pulse indicate that he’s inquisitive, the single step forward being all the confirmation my logic algorithms require. “I- hope I’m not intruding Id, but I.. I was hoping you’d be willing to speak to me ab--” 
> 
> **[ID]:** “Are you not already doing so _,_ Director?” I ask him plainly, the breeze of a freshly-unsealed airlock wafting across both our faces. “Speak with me. ...You have a willing audience, for now.” 
> 
> **[ID]:** I realize in retrospect that, every time he talks to me, I make every cue for him a puzzle. A layered sentence that he must use all his individual might to try and form a clever enough response to, and decipher my inherent meaning. 
> 
> **[ID]:** I wonder if that is a part of myself that I've fostered since my "Reprisal," or if it was from the Collective.  
> I wonder if this is cruel.   
> And then I wonder, if this _is_ an inherent part of me... if perhaps _I_ am cruel.
> 
> **[ID]:** I speak for him again, because I see how hard he’s “looking for words,” he calls it.
> 
> **[ID]:** “You want to ask me something.”
> 
> **[ID]:** My visual recognizes that he swallows. 
> 
> **[ID]:** “Yes,” he admits. “Even if I… don’t know what it is that I'm asking. But what I do know, I feel, is… it’s something _you_ might know, Id.”
> 
> **[ID]:** He pauses. “I, was… _once_ you,” the Director continues, “and you were once _me_. And if I’ve known myself _this_ well in 23 years, it’s that I’m a-- terrible liar, really.”
> 
> **[ID]:** He speaks to me like he knows me so well.   
> Is that friendliness? Amiability? Manipulation?   
> I have many parts of me that want to say all three.   
> The third, however, is laced with more malice.
> 
> **[ID]:** “If you’re wondering if it’s information I’m withholding that could affect the success or advancement of yo--”
> 
> **[ID]:** I recall the desperate, processor-tinged holler he begged of me three days ago to recognize that it was _not,_ indeed, “his” little project. 
> 
> **[ID]:** So I stop, and start over. “... of the Reclamation Project’s operations here,” I continue, “then no. You may rest assured in that. It would not be efficient for me to not communicate something that’d help complete my purpose here.”
> 
> **[ID]:** The Director tilts his head, but still looks down. I believe he may be deciding whether or not that answer was sufficient for him. 
> 
> **[ID]:** He looks up.   
> By his continuation, it was- in a way.   
> “I, ah… thank you for your honesty in this,” he says politely enough, “it’s… not in our nature to sabotage systems that may be improved upon.” 
> 
> **[ID]:** “No. It’s not.”   
> I look at him, and my eyes still feel surprisingly soft.
> 
> **[ID]:** “You, least of all.”  
> I see this tests the restraint on his politeness.
> 
> **[ID]:** And his hands are rubbing together, looking down again before bringing his gaze back to me with pleading, brown-and-false eyes. 
> 
> **[ID]:** “Id,” Hugh asks me quietly, “then… what-- _is_ this information that you’re not telling me? If it’s… personal, please, that’s fine, but-- the way you _speak_ to me at times, these past weeks and how you’ve treated me, the way you’ve _looked_ at me!” he exclaims. “Based on what’s _happened_ here, during this project; the tasks that I’ve been able to do and _live through,_ Id, why has all this--” 
> 
> **[ID]:** “I do not _speak_ of ‘this,’” I tell him as evenly as I’m able, “because I don’t know if it’s information you will _want_ to know. I don’t know if it’s information I should _share._ For the first time in this unit’s-- in _my very existence,_ Hugh,” I make myself say, make myself _remember,_ and I turn my head to him and my voice begins to shudder with the anger I looked for earlier, “I have to question _sharing information-_ something I had no _concept_ of four months ago! Don’t you see how this might be difficult for me _too!?_ That I must decide what to share and _what to keep to myself!?”_
> 
> **[ID]:** I see my response is already causing him panic. In truth, the way I’m speaking leaves that reaction wholly valid.   
> So I collect myself, and lay a hand back on the railing.
> 
> **[ID]:** After 4.23 seconds of quiet between us, he speaks again. “Why?” the Director says, his voice gentle but desperate for answers. “What is the nature of this information that… causes you such distress?” 
> 
> **[ID]:** My lips tighten. “You have said it yourself previously, Hugh. As odd as it may be... we have our similarities. And I do not know how… ‘ready’ you are,” I tell him, “to know one more thing that would concretely bind us by _more_ than just… metaphor. More than simple circumstances. My than the nature by which you call a 'commonality.'”
> 
> ` [silence, 3.48 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** “How awestriking it is- to see a single eye of my sisters in you.”
> 
> **[ID]:** His head tilts to the side, giving me that same squint of… ‘confusion,’ infused with the faint beginnings of horror. 
> 
> **[ID]:** “What are you implying,” he asks me evenly.
> 
> **[ID]:** “I do not _imply_ ,” I tell him. “I tell you what is true.”
> 
> **[ID]:** I steel my millions of thoughts. A leg of mine turns so that I may fully face and tower over him. My face feels heavy, my eyes feel tired, but I hold my jaw and my brow with all the strength of tritanium that lines this great vessel's walls. 
> 
> **[ID]:** And I tell this self-made man something he would never want to hear.
> 
> **[ID]:** “You were created from the archived genetic information of Species 125, Hugh. And the scout ship that crashed 23 years ago was originally en-route towards a processing facility to convert your unit’s components into a new queen.”
> 
> **[ID]:** He stares at me.   
> I do not break that stare.  
> And I believe it all starts to make sense for him. 
> 
> **[ID]:** The times I have spoken of "our sisters" when he was in my presence; it was not in wider reference to the kinship of the Collective. His natural sway and compatibility with Borg machinery. Why they might have never found a direct primary species match for his organic components- as much as any drone is created by the Collective's slurry. His ability to so easily plant individuality and inspire order within others, rather than shut down or succumb once again to the Collective. His very body begins to stiffen; he reaches with a shuddering hand to rub at his face, I see his jaw clench his teeth behind right lips...
> 
> **[ID]:** I see his reaction.  
> I hope another voice, a steady voice, could calm him.  
> I step forward. 
> 
> **[ID]:** “Hugh,” I merely say. 
> 
> ` [silence, 6.48 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** Upon reflection, it _was_ cruel of me to not offer a hand to him in that moment. 
> 
> **[ID]:** For the more I continue to observe him, I start to believe he is beginning to perhaps theorize other things. As if questioning the extent of his very existence. “Could this have affected his ability to sever his fellow drones at all?,” he might wonder? Was his influence so deep because of Hugh, himself? Or was it due to the parts that he did not know of nor ask for?
> 
> **[ID]:** If he was the one that shook Cube 5219 with the spark of individuality and flung that spark across the Collective, could everything be brought back to him? 
> 
> **[ID]:** I have wondered the same, admittedly.  
> Though I suppose now, in my clarity, it was _always_ an inevitability. The Collective's perfection would eventually find a fire that it could never truly repair burnt edges from.
> 
> **[ID]:** But how horrid would it be, to be saddled with that fate- being the former unit, the _person_ who lit that spark.
> 
> **[ID]:** And he looks at me with terror, with a growing _fear_ in his eyes, “No. N-no, you… me, _I_ can’t be--”
> 
> **[ID]:** “I would have no reason to lie to you about this,” I tell him, “nor would it make sense for me to fabricate this fact. Would you have preferred if—“
> 
> **[ID]:** But he cuts me off in that terror, his hand jabbing an accusatory finger at me in a shaking voice: “Preferred _what_?!” He demands me. “Preferred if I live in… peace? Blissful ignorance?! A-- fact that-- _information--_ knowing what I’m _from,_ a-and what I’ve _done,_ it--”
> 
> **[ID]:** I am silent as I watch him press his palms to his face and run them harshly through his hair, his face red and his eyes already wet.
> 
> **[ID]:** “Do you see, now?" I ask him. "Why I struggled with this information?”
> 
> **[ID]:** He sniffs in- deeply, with a shudder.
> 
> **[ID]:** “Y-yes.”
> 
> **[ID]:** He looks back over the hallway’s windowed view, wrapping his lips in and shaking his head.  
> Upon reflection of observing this reaction, I believe I am beginning to understand the term “ache,” when it is used in relation to an emotion rather than the _physical_ sensation. 
> 
> **[ID]:** “Have you known,” he asks me in a wavering voice, “h-have you known this _entire_ time--” 
> 
> **[ID]:** “Yes,” I tell him evenly.
> 
> **[ID]:** I am surprised at how much the remnants of my organic throat are tightened and constricted. 
> 
> **[ID]:** “I have known ever since my creation and deployment.”
> 
> **[ID]:** He is quiet again, and he looks down to his feet as his leg begins to bob.  
> These are habits, I am told.   
> And these habits, in particular, could manifest due to anxiety or other fragile personal states of mind.
> 
> **[ID]:** “S-species 125,” he shudders, “o-our… our people, what happe--” 
> 
> **[ID]:** “Dead,” I tell him quietly. 
> 
> **[ID]:** My throat is still constricted to speak as I normally do. 
> 
> **[ID]:** “All dead, in a sense; though they shall always be a part of the Collective. They were incorporated, and their detailed history and culture were purged- lest they be weaponized against us.” 
> 
> ` [silence, 5.34 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** “In my clarity-given mind,” I muse with him, “I wonder if those ‘Progenitors’ thought they could control the Hive. Subdue it, when assimilation came for them. I suppose… it worked, in a way. But perhaps not as they intended.”
> 
> **[ID]:** He chokes back another sob.  
> I sense he’s keeping far more restrained.
> 
> **[ID]:** “Is that… is that all,” he manages. “Is there-- anything else?” 
> 
> **[ID]:** “No.”
> 
> **[ID]:** I conclude he believes me. But it does not remove any of the earlier-accumulated "ache."  
> I think of the hand I did not offer him earlier, and I attempt it now in recompense.  
> But by the time I look at him again to do so, I see he is already nodding tightly at me, muttering something with a forced smile, and I at least make an attempt to stop him before he turns on his heel to briskly walk back the way he came. 
> 
> **[ID]:** "Hugh," I ask him to no avail, "Hugh, wait..."
> 
> **[ID]:** He leaves.  
> The aforementioned ache shifts to settle into Hugh's absence.  
> And I believe, for the first time in my life... I feel the sensation of "missing someone." 
> 
> ` [silence, 7.19 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** Are there any others besides us, I wonder? Within the Collective of course there are, but-- any outside of us, any who may have...
> 
> ` [silence, 6.02 seconds]  
>  [sound identified as sniffing from registered user ID]  
>  [sounds identified as jewelry shuffling, 7.57 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** I am lonely.   
> Perhaps _he_ could help make this solitary existence of mine _less_ lonely.  
> But it is difficult- knowing when and when _not_ to share information now.   
> I-- miss when it was _not_ so difficult.  
> And I fear my decision has made us both feel... _more_ lonely.
> 
> ` [silence, 9.32 seconds]  
>  [sighs]  
>  ` `[unidentified snap]  
>  [unidentified energy signature burst]`
> 
> **[???]:** Well well, colored me impressed; you actually _told_ the little pipsqueak! Didn't think you had it in you, _mon dame;_ that shows _me_ to underestimate a Queen...
> 
> ` [sounds of prosthetic shuffling from registered user ID, 1.14 seconds]  
>  [silence, 3.28 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** Y... you... I know your face, y-you're--
> 
> **[???]:** Oh, I look _familiar_ to you? Hm... how charming; I'm almost _flattered._ I would _love_ to know what _other_ thoughts about me Jean-luc passed onto your trillions' worth of a lot... though we'd be here an _awful_ long time if we went scrounging around in the Borg's collective _memory_ now, wouldn't we? How much more simple it would be just to _ask_ you _._
> 
> ` [silence, 3.43 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** You... you were _there..._ _there,_ on the _Enterprise,_ at our-- 
> 
> **[???]:** Oh, _please_ don't tell me you're going to say "first contact;" I've seen three this morning across the Alpha Quadrant and I'm bored already! Besides; yours and the _Enterprise's_ little meet-and-greet will _always_ be one of my favorites; there's no topping that. A little while ago I remembered it, and then I thought "how fun would it be to pay a visit to the newest wonder to pop out of the Borg?" Pah-- Admiral Janeway and the Queen's game of chess as _Voyager_ came back to their little blue marble was fine enough, the aforementioned _Director_ falling out of the sky with his group's great big cube all fine and fascinating, but _you..._ oh, aren't you just an _interesting_ one. And then I happen to hear you finally drop the sphere-sized _bomb_ on the Director- the _same day_ I muse on gracing you with my presence? How poetic your little existences can be. Poetic, and certainly much more _entertaining_ than it must've been in that noisy little Hivemind...
> 
> ` [silence, 2.43 seconds]`
> 
> **[???]:** Well, I hardly expected you to be so _quiet_ in person, after that bravado of a recording; is this the--
> 
> **[ID]:** You... y-you truly think of us, as...
> 
> ` [rising laughter from registered user ID, 4.58 seconds]`
> 
> **[???]:** Have I said something humorous, _mon dame?_
> 
> **[ID]:** W-we are merely your _playthings,_ I see. Pieces of a great game for you, to-- _move around at your whim,_ is it? `[``laughter resumes from registered user ID, slow footsteps away from recording PADD``] `Some little cosmic _pawns_ in your great... what is it, anyway? Scheme? Machinations? A _show_ , for your _amusement!?_
> 
> **[???]:** Hm. One thing _is_ to be said for you and your ilk; for being such a _monotonous_ people, you're certainly full of _surprises._
> 
> **[ID]:** That's not all, you--
> 
> ` [sounds of struggle, 6.43 seconds]  
>  [various clatters]  
>  [thud against registered user ID's quarters support arch 02]`
> 
> **[???]:** I'm going to ask you put me down from the _wall,_ mon d--
> 
> **[ID]: _I HAVE A NAME,_** _YOU CRETIN_ _!_
> 
> ` [silence, 3.18 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** I would-- crush your _throat_ , if I could...
> 
> **[???]:** Oh, good: then you _very well know_ I could just _leave_ this demeaning pose at any time.
> 
> **[ID]:** To my great loathing, yes- and oddly enough you seem to be _enjoying_ yourself, you little _masochist--_ though I hope... oh, I hope you feel a _fraction_ of the fear you allowed be struck into the _Admiral's_ heart the day we took him. 
> 
> ` [silence, 2.18 seconds]`
> 
> **[???]:** You will speak of no such thing. Not while I've come here to have _fun._
> 
> **[ID]:** And why's that? Is fun _easier?_ Is it-- too much to know how deeply the results of your little meet-and-greet _scarred_ him? Do you not want to know about the residue of human, saline tears we found on his assimilation procedure's table? Do you not want to LISTEN to the mental screams he thrashed across the ENTIRE COLLECTIVE as his voice led ours to BURN ship after Federation ship!? YOU SPEAK OF **_FUN_** when you're here- the one who helped turned the _COLLECTIVE into **CHAOS?!**_
> 
> ` [silence, 5.18 seconds]  
>  [sob from registered user ID, 5.45 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** H-how _cruel_ of you- to watch Hugh and them fall as they did. Alone. How _indignant_ of you- you, i-in all your-- _infinite_ abilities-- to let them... _stumble_ in the dark. To let them die. And do _nothing_ to help them.
> 
> **[???]:** People are cruel every day. Besides: I seem to recall you _yourself_ saying that the Borg's arrival to this quadrant was always an inevitability. I fail to see how I'm _somehow_ more at fault, that somehow _I'm_ more cruel- coming from someone like _you_.
> 
> ` [silence, 2.18 seconds]  
>  [various clatters]  
>  [thud against registered user ID's quarters floor]  
>  [sound identified as "assimilation tubule deployment" from registered user ID]`
> 
> **[???]:** Ooogh, ghlk-- so-- _that's_ what _that--_ feels like, mgnhn--
> 
> **[ID]:** I know this means nothing-- `[laughs] `I know you will _leave my grasp_ in a moment's notice and I will have learned _nothing from my nanoprobes,_ but ohhh, how **_wonderful_** it is now... 
> 
> ` [silence, 3.56 seconds]`
> 
> **[???]:** How-- wonderful _what_ is, exactly?
> 
> ` [silence, 4.12 seconds]  
>  [rising loud laughter from registered user ID]`
> 
> **[ID]:** Ahhhahaha... ohhh, to be staring at my life's new calling. --U-utterly, _completely,_ and... _wholly,_ in the face.
> 
> **[???]:** Nnngh, that's-- very good for _you_ , but I can _see_ now why humanoids don't have a lot of time for _free-thinking_ after this takes its rounds through their fleshy little systems-- how about this, _Id!_ I propose a little trip down "memory lane." Come with me, won't you?
> 
> **[ID]:** What are you--
> 
> ` [unidentified snap]  
>  [unidentified energy signature burst]`
> 
> ``
> 
> ` [silence, 2 minutes, 34 seconds]`
> 
> ``
> 
> ` [unidentified snap]  
>  [unidentified energy signature burst]  
>  [registered user ID coughing, gasping, sobbing]`
> 
> **[???]:** Well, I hope that was... "enlightening" for you? Whatever you want to call it; I think it was quite _enriching_ for me. Not necessarily in the positive or _negative_ sense, but... certainly enriching, in some form. I've not seen a city burning like that since _Rome,_ really.
> 
> ` [registered user ID standing, ragged breaths]`
> 
> **[???]:** I'll leave you to marinate in that, Id. Though something tells me... we'll cross paths again, one day. Maybe whether I arrange it, or perhaps not even _expect_ it. And if it turns out to be the latter? Oh; I _wholly_ applaud you in advance.``
> 
> ` [unidentified snap]`
> 
> **[ID]:** NO-!``
> 
> ` [unidentified energy signature burst]  
>  [silence, 10.58 seconds]  
>  [shuffling of jewelry, further ambient sounds identified as registered user ID's limbs and movement]`
> 
> **[ID]:** I-I have... seen things. Things, _information, events_ that-- I'm glad does not pertain directly to the success of the Atlas Project.  
> This means I may... _decide_ when I might want to share this information. _If_ I ever want to. A skill relating to decision, to _choice-_ that I must still work on, obviously. But I have many things to consider.  
> I do know one thing, however.
> 
> ` [silence, 5.21 seconds]  
>  [recording PADD is brought closer to registered user ID's proximity]`
> 
> **[ID]:** I will kill him for what he's done, Hugh. I will see the life snuffed out of his horrid, omnipotent hands one day- so that he and all his ilk will no longer toy with what they regard as mere _insects_ for their own _amusement_. I-I will see to it that _you_ , and-- _all_ the work you do for those that are the _results_ of their sickening games are... safe. Untouched by outside, _untouchable_ factors. If I spend a year, a _dozen years, **a hundred or more** years _trying... _this_ will be my long-term purpose. My individuality... it has seen that _inspiration_ you and Atlas so sweetly speak of, my little Prince.
> 
> ` [silence, 7.23 seconds]  
>  `
> 
> **[ID]:** The Steward calls me "Abdicate." I have not appreciated this nickname as... _fully_ as I do now.  
> For I should like to see an Abdicate commit _Regicide_ upon an entire _Continuum_.
> 
> ` [silence, 5.23 seconds]`
> 
> **[ID]:** End personal log.``

``

``

`[> RECORDING SUCCESSFULLY SAVED]  
[> ARCHIVED AS "ENTRY 001" for registered user ID]` ``

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been waiting. to drop this headcanon. about hugh. for almost 3/4 of a year. throws a football against the ground while crying and rolling into the next chapter that will not come as fast as this one did


End file.
